


A Most Unholy Inquisitor

by Bloogerstien



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-09
Updated: 2016-09-22
Packaged: 2018-05-05 18:08:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 29
Words: 76,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5385452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bloogerstien/pseuds/Bloogerstien
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Another Inquisitor Trevelyan Story. With 33% more of Andraste’s knickers!</p><p>See more of my writing at http://nothisis-ridiculous.tumblr.com/</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Andraste’s Tits, Delilah!”

“Tsk, tsk, already profaning at this early hour!”

“You know I was up late.”

The red head tugged at the edges of her blanket, but found the weight of the woman on top of her had already ensnared the covers. The red head gave out a soft whine.

“Well, I didn’t plan the rebellion to start just yet.”

“Is this another one of your ideas that can’t wait until I’ve slept? Or a normal hour?”

“I’m not joking.”

“Maker’s ball sack!”

“Guin, really, we need to go!”

The shuffling of feet and sounds of commotion were starting to suddenly hit the Trevelyan’s ears. With a shake of her head, her arms braced to lift a heavy head from the bed. Delilah was up and pacing, brushing a hand through her lush black hair.

“What did you do?”

“Me? Nothing?” Sarcasm not managing to hit the falsetto usually achieved.

Guinevere felt she knew better, but ignored it due to the panic starting to set like ice in her veins.

“Where are they?”

“They are all headed to the Senior Enchanter’s quarters. That’s why we need to go!” Her tone growing further impatient.

Delilah had prepared for Guinevere evidently, handing her a set of clothes she was not familiar with. The scowl must have alerted Delilah to Guinevere’s thoughts.

“We can’t look like mages if we are leaving the circle. We’ll be detained on site outside the city.

Now hurry!”

Guinevere changed quickly, as the building grew louder. As the last leg was finally through her pants screaming erupted through the building.

“Del-” The name unfinished as Guinevere was pushed from the room, stumbling to catch up with her feet.

“Go!”

In the grog of sleep Guinevere ran on blindly, only managing to turn on the command or nudging of her friend. Until a steel wall had implanted itself in her way. But this metal wall was friendly, and caught Guin before her body decided to hit the floor. Blinking back some of the sleep in her eyes the wall began to mold into a face with black hair, and soft brown eyes.

“It’s one of them!” Panic catching her throat into a knot.

“No, he’s with us!”

“Del, what’s going on?”

“We’re getting out of here, is what. The other Templars have began slaughtering any mage they come across.” The Templar gripped tighter to Guin, but looked squarely at Delilah. “You’re late.”

“Missy Trevelyan here sleeps in the nude, I had forgotten that!”

“Del!”

A blush crept across the Templar’s face, but his grip relaxed. “Either way, we have enough time. Linnea  and the others are already waiting and ready.”

“Del?” Guinevere’s arms crossed over her chest, suddenly aware that she was lacking a breast band. Her neck craned up,  “You’re helping?”

“Not all Templars need be bad.” Kell answered softly, daring to run his fingers through the scraggly red hair of the mage before him. It was answered softer than expected, with but a simple glare.

Delilah cleared her throat.

The trio then rushed to the bottom level of the circle, their pace increasing as the screams and heat behind them grew. As promised a group was waiting for them, three more Templars, and at least ten other mages.

Linnea was the first to speak. “It’s good to see your highness finally decided to grace herself with her presence!” The mage with short brown hair sneered.

Energy cracked between the Trevelyan’s fingers, as Delilah placed herself between them.

“We can do this after we leave this death trap!”

As this short challenge concluded the Templars, someone how having the key cracked the door open, as a dying body toppled from the stairs behind them. All arguments stopped.

—   —   —   —   —   —   —   —   — 

The sun burst from the horizon in a dazzling display of orange, pinks, and purples. Even after months are being free of the circle, Guinevere never missed one. Not once. Even after endless teasing, she woke up early for each one of them.

The group that had started at a sizable force, had been growing daily from the moment they had left Ostwick. Mages of all kinds- from the circle to the apostate. In size came protection, but so had increased the intensity of their problems. Mostly Templars. Well, almost exactly all of them were Templars… Either by oath, or general ignorance none of the Templars among them knew where any of the phylacteries were located. Making any mage in the group a way to track them.

By suicidal goodwill, they had not decided to oust any mage that had a known phylactery used to trace the group.

Well, by mostly the command of Guinevere Trevelyan. Yet the only among them to have a name with any power attached. It certainly wasn’t popular, and certainly being able to decree such a thing entitled her to a certain amount of unwanted responsibility within the small movement. The dawn was the only quiet moment Guin was allowed.

“'Ello!” Cooed Kell softly, taking a bold position beside her. His legs stretched out into the grass.

“Kell.”

“Guin.”

“You nervous?”

“I wasn’t, but I see that will change now.” Words spoke in jest, the tip of her tongue prodding in his direction.

Kell reached across himself to grasp at her tongue, laughing as he did so. But as the muscle had retreated the hand settled on her cheek as the prize, drawing her face closer to his. Foreheads settling against one another.

“Can I?” His mouth moved closer, awaiting the positive answer he expected.

“Kell, I-.” Maker did she ever wish to kiss this man. Her stomach upturned in what she could only expect were butterflies.  His warm breath, smelling slightly of oranges and lyrium was the most enticing thing imaginable to this mage. The display of this new day was even perfect.

Yet Guinevere was still unsure. Her lips quivered, head slowly beginning to tip without her permission. An adverse reaction her gut bubbled, all the mage in her saw a Templar.

“No!” Guin tore herself away.

“No?” Kell removed his hand, his expression looked hurt.

“I mean, I want to- but I, we need to sort this out you’re…a… one of them.”

“Oh, I get it. Especially with the Conclave toady, you have a lot on your mind. Not just some meat headed Templar.”

Guinevere smiled, pulling her crossed legs over his.

“This okay.”

Kell nodded, shifting over to place his arm behind her.

“Will you go with me?”

“Always.”

Guin settled her head in the crook of his arm. This was by far less repelling, even familiar.

“After the Conclave, can we try again?” Kell gulped as he spoke.

“Yes, after the Conclave.”


	2. Chapter 2

The room was cold- even compared to the mountains in which the conclave was nestled.

Her knees dug very uncomfortably into the stone floor. The shackles bit into her wrists, but this was the last thing on her mind. Every twenty-seven seconds, yes she had counted, her left hand would ignite in green energy. The back charge from this energy seared through her veins, lighting every possible nerve in its wake shifting the tendons in her arm apart. Guinevere knew the sting of electricity well, but this was entirely something different.  Stifling even a grunt was impossible.

The woman didn’t protest, and could hardly think  a response when forced to the center of the jail room. Swords barely gave enough room to breathe, and her fate felt resigned. Guinevere Trevelyan would die in this room.

Was this some sick joke of a Templar that had found her? No, it wasn’t that she was at the Conclave.

Or was this Conclave a trap? The group had retained little contact with the outside world, and Guinevere had managed less, so it could be an elaborate ruse. But that was also doubtful. It was a far fetched idea, something was wrong just exactly what was wrong was the question.

With the crash of the door, all thoughts scattered as the light cruelly assaulted her eyes. One woman rounded her side, while the other hooded, approached.

“Tell me why we shouldn’t kill you now.” Opposed to the voice approaching, it was the one behind her who hissed into her ear. “The Conclave is destroyed, everyone who attended  is dead, except for you.”

The words took what felt like hours to register, her throat lumped and hardened refusing to even draw in a breath.

The Nevarren did not appreciate the lack of an answer.

“Explain this!”

Wrenching the mage’s arms up with a yank, as the energy bubbled in protest.  
“I can’t.” Throat scratchy and dry, words mutilated from lack of recent water or nourishment.

“What do you mean you can’t?” Words became louder, as the two circled like vultures. Ready to devour the mage.

“I don’t know what that is…or how it got there!” Guinevere cried honestly, voice hoarse.

“You’re lying!” The woman shouted, as she shoved the prisoner. The captive fell easily to the side, winching obviously.

“We need her, Cassandra.” Come the petite Orlesian voice, forcing herself in front of the prisoner. Affirming the game of good Templar, Bad Templar. If it were not for the Seeker plate of the woman with the braided halo.

“I can’t believe it…all those people, dead.” Guin’s voice devoid of tone, as her psyche was receiving a harsher back lash than even Cassandra could deliver.

“Do you remember what happened?” Words were somewhat softer and kinder, as a hand was offered to help the mage to her knees. “How this began?”

—   —   —   —   —   —   —   —   —

 _Andraste’s tits…My head_.

Her mouth was dry, and her head rang loudly. With a grunt, the world around her finally had decided to stop spinning. But the scenery that had decided to pull into view was not the one that she had last woken up to. First she was on a bed, and secondly she was no longer shackled. With a glance at her arm she noticed it was no longer cackling either.

Did she dare relax?

The ambient noise was busy, but thankfully not loud enough to mix in with the banging of her head. With a pensive glance at the candle, a figure in her far field of vision startled her. Her figured further curled as a crate slammed to the floor glasses shattering within it.

“Oh!” The frail elf spouted.

“I didn’t know you were awake. I swear!”

“Don’t worry about it, I only..” Her hand moving to rub at the aching temples. This situation was becoming increasingly confusing and infuriating…

Then the girl dropped to her knees. Guinevere felt a growl surfacing in her throat, but it lacked the necessary lubrication to do so.

“I beg your forgiveness and your blessing. I am but a humble servant.”

Guinevere’s feet swing from the bed, letting the girl ramble on further. It all felt like a blur, everything the girl was saying faded in and out. About the breach, people speaking about her…positively…mostly she focused on what was easy to believe. That was her hand, glowing again but this time not as painfully.

“They’re actually happy with me?” Last she remembered she was thought a murderer. She had seen the way they looked at her. But who did she kill? Yes, it was the Divine she remembered. What a screwy reality this was turning out to be. _This cannot be real_.

“The breach is still in the sky, but that’s just what I heard.” The elf was flinching, and despite how pathetic it was Guinevere was not feeling patient enough to deal with. The pain in her stomach, throat, and head felt the loss of several’s day food and drink.

After a few at once’s the elf was gone. Leaving Guinevere with the dread of again meeting with Cassandra. Guinevere decided she would do as she pleased, if even just for a short while. Her first thought was of food and drink. There was a desk! And maker be praised there was an apple in the basket, it was like she was blessed….Or this was a really good dream. But the ribbons wrapped around her right hand battled that, as a sob forced her elbows into the table. She was not strong enough for this. Emotionally or otherwise.

With a crisp bite taken from the apple, she mustered what strength she could, wiping the remnant of tears from her eyes.

The short jaunt to the door felt like miles.

_Dear, Andraste. On the Maker’s most holy balls, if this is a dream I will be a most devout Andrastian for the rest of my days!_

Was that how the praying thing worked?

 _I’ll also stop profaning on your name_. Interjecting a quick mental promise, to sweeten the pot.

When the the latch gave way, and the door opened.

Guinevere soon realized that her new vows were an empty promise.

—   —   —   —   —   —   —   —   —

This day was not going the way she would have wished it.

The amount of times she had profaned, mentally or out loud had been tripled from any other days previous record.

At least she had an apple.

She had no choice- or be left on her own as a wanted criminal. Guin was the only one seemingly able to close these breaches. Being heartless was something she was not good at. So helping against her own will it was, these people were just so friendly. Such thoughts kept her from being sarcastic openly as she left the meeting with Leliana and Cassandra.

Apple still in hand she put the fruit against her mouth, unable to take the wait any longer. Resting against the very door she had just left through, back against the door and feet planted widely.

Even as the edges of the revealed fruit had turned brown, it had not soured the taste of the apple. This was Guinevere’s sort of heaven.

“What are you doing here, mage?”

The dream shattered, leaving Guinevere to stare up at a man with blonde hair and golden eyes.

“Eating.” Answering curtly.

The mage knew immediately this was a Templar. The hand resting on the hilt of his sword, the soft little sneer that his expression carried. Especially with his knowledge that she was a mage without a staff present.

“You are in the way.” He growled, Guin noting that she seemed a little rushed. His cheeks were a little flushed, and the growl he spoke with indicated of recent yelling.

“Where should I be?” This was a well rehearsed script. One slightly sarcastic, but at the same time submissive. Just enough for most Templars to feel offended, but doubt it due to the tone of the words. All circle mages knew how to deal with a Templar like this.

His glare intensified,  his shoulder’s rising beneath the fur surcoat and his chest puffed. He did not like being challenged, a member of the big brass. Or formerly so. The Templar’s face began to pierce her personal bubble.

“With the rest of the mages. But seeing as you cannot even manage to wear the provided clothes -that a refuge would kill for, I believe that you are in need of remedial tr-.”

“Oooh, tough guy.” Guinevere interrupted, the filter broken by the worsening of the growl growing in her stomach.

The man was now glowering, the glint in his eye was dangerous. The hand on his hilt moved, and plucked the apple from the mage’s hand dropping it at her feet.  Her mouth went agape, blinking at the man slowly.

“What is your name, recruit.”

“Guinevere.” She muttered, the hand now devoid of an apple clutching containing the spark of blue energy from her own magic. The short hairs on her head began to rise in the static. She wasn’t paying attention to the ribbon she was beginning to fray in her clutches.

“I’ll make sure you become more grateful for what we provide in the near future, if you last that long.” His gaze could harden no further, and Guinevere was quickly loosing to their pressure. “Now move out of my way.”

“Yes, Templar, Ser.”

“And pick up that apple. It isn’t wise to waste.”

Bowing deeply as she turned herself out of the way.  Never to be one totally disobedient, thin fingers swept up the apple as she pivoted.

But only a step later the fruit went careening for the back of the man’s coiffed head. The apple struck dead on target.

“I don’t like you, Templar.”

What has heard next was something akin to a start of a yell, that turned into a growl. But thinking on a much more clear headed approach than the mage, he pushed through the door. Leaving Guinevere to seek after some well deserved food.

—   —   —   —   —   —   —   —   —

 _Maker’s breath, why is she here again_?

Cullen had a hard time ignoring the female who had earlier struck him with the apple. Oblivious or not, he had yet to figure out who she was. Not a soul knew of a mage named Guinevere. But he saw her at a distance, if ever seeing her at all. She wasn’t around for much of the last week, and to that he was thankful. Though the woman made him feel a kind of scorn remnant of his Templar days, the desires that came with it were shameful.

The juice of the apple coating her lips, a glistening and smart mouth that made him wish to take her lips into his own. Forcing them, albeit gently, into submission. Thoughts like this drove him into the most perverse of physical twitches. Commander Rutherford was much to busy to be pinning over a woman, today was the day they would finally meet the Herald. Another woman, who had been on bed rest, for the last week. Now the Herald, that was a woman to pine after. Her heard tale of her beauty.

Yes, after meeting this Herald, that woman would cease to exist.

Or he would be further busier to no longer be allowed to think on any woman.

His pace increased at the way back into Haven’s Chantry, arriving just a little early. The table needed to be arranged perfectly, having the Inquisition seem anything less than perfect would be a terrible mistake. As it was the first meeting the Herald of Andraste would attend. Cullen was also more nervous than he liked to admit, his posture straightening as he heard Cassandra speaking with…

Wait, had he heard that voice before?

“You!” The voice he dreaded, -or yearned was it yearned?- spat at him. Green eyes enraged, as electricity spiced the air around them.

“May I present Commander Cullen, leader of the Inquisition’s forces.” Cassandra’s rough Nevarren voice cutting through the tension, preferring to lead the meeting onward.

“Such as they are-” Cullen couldn’t face looking at this ‘Herald’. But in fear of Cassandra retaliating, and tale of his spat with the Herald becoming an issue he kept civil. Cullen kept his head down, not daring to look at the woman. The pressure exerted from mage’s glare was enough to make him want to retreat. When he gaze shifted during the introductions he manged to pull himself back together.

“Pleased to meet you all.” The inflection in the Herald’s words did not go unnoticed.

In light of the argument, again over siding with the Mages or Templars, he was happy to lose himself in the debate.

The woman seemed to be calmer now, and responded without too much fuss. The room more peaceful as a fed and rested Herald was more personable. His pride would have felt better if she had fought, or reacted with more than an icy glare. He was almost starting to like her, and almost admired her wit. She was beautiful, and that was not to doubt. Even more so now as her eyes looked less sunken, and ivory skin had recovered some color. Straight red hair was immaculately groomed and pulled over one shoulder, with trimmed hair on the opposite side. Green blue eyes glittering in the soft torch light. Now this was a woman to want after.

 _Maker’s breath_. His nose pulled in an unfamiliar smell. It was calming, sweet and twinged with something more erotic. He wasn’t familiar enough with the smell to know it was jasmine.

“I still don’t like you, Templar.” The voice woke him from his musings as the door slammed.

“You know each other?”

“I- she- never mind!” His hand moved to rub the back of his neck.

Cassandra would not let him off that easily.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please feel free to leave any comments, and be sure to check out my other works too!

Guinevere found herself in quite the conundrum. Only earlier that morning  she had found that she was going to Redcliffe’s hinterlands. No ifs, ands, or buts to be seen.

All because of her occasionally green glowing hand.

 _How is this my responsibility?_ It wasn’t often her own mortality was forefront in her mind, but being expected to fight… without an ounce of experience fighting actual mortal beings. Demons were one thing, but fighting another human? Even an elf, or any other race would be difficult. Guin had yet to take anything’s life.

To make it worse, was knowing she had to go toe to toe against Templars. They could steal her magic, make her useless. All of this was maddening, disheartening in the least. Who could she turn to? Cassandra was a bear with the way she growled. Varric always surrounded by others, and would turn it into a story. Solas was much too smug. To the rest of the soldiers she was like a god, and it wasn’t ‘godly’ to ask for help.

Guinevere found herself walking out of Haven, heading for the frozen lake. The ringing of metal reverberated through the valley created by the lake, as men and women alike sparred with one another.

“You there! There is a shield in your hand! Block with it!” Rang out the tenor of the Commander’s voice. “If this man was your enemy you would be dead!”

Andraste’s tits be praised, his back was turned to her. A perfect excuse to slink away in her thoughts. Guin also did not wish to be around this man, finding out with displeasure that he was the Commander of the Inquisiton’s forces. Much more than that, he was the former Knight-Captain Cullen from the Kirkwall Circle of Magi. Not a man that any mage would willingly place themselves in the path of.

“Lieutenant, don’t hold back, these recruits must prepare for a real fight, not a practice one.” The pitch over the voice change, inflecting just slightly lower.

The Herald had been seen.

“Yes, Commander!” The man beside him thumped his palm against his chest, leading the drills.

Slowly Guinevere pivoted her head to glance, half glared, at the Commander. Defense mode activating as her body froze. Ignorant to whatever Guin felt at the time, the Commander urged her over with a flick of his head. Arms folding, as her feet moved too slowly for his patience.

“I would,.. If I could apologize for our fir-.”

A thin red eyebrow raised, a corner of her lip turned in a deeper frown.

“For MY treatment of you earlier. If I had known it was you, it wouldn’t have happened.” A hand reaching to rub at back of his neck.

“Just because I’m the Herald?”

“Uh, well-.”

“Otherwise, I should have been a good little mage and gone back to my circle?”

“That isn’t what I mean.”

“It is what you said.”

“I-I suppose it was.”

 _Ugh_. Guinevere’s nose crinkled, turning away from the Templar not so sure why she had even let him bully her into speaking.

“Herald, please!” A gloved hand caught her elbow. “I was wrong to behave so despicably, to anyone.”

“Thank you, but all is forgiven now.” Guinevere rarely stayed angry long, like the lightning she wielded her temper was just as quick.  But any wrongs were usually just as quickly forgiven.

His hand dropped from her elbow, as his arms folded once again.

“We have received a number of recruits. Locals from Haven and some pilgrims. None made quite the entrance you did.”

Then conversation continued on peacefully, Guinevere’s face had managed to relax. He talked about being in Kirkwall, something she already knew, and how he ended up recruited to the Inquisition. Cassandra was turning out to be quite the silver tongued, (or was it fisted?) force behind recruitment for this still rag-tag band. The conversation veered briefly to her mark.

“I must have this mark for a reason, it will work. I’m sure of it.” words placed with just a hint of missed sarcasm.

“Provided we can secure aid, but I am confident we can,” a slight smile upturning his features, “The Chantry lost control of both Tempars and Mages. Now they argue over a new Divine, while the Breach remains. The Inquisition could act when the Chantry can not. Our followers would be part of that! There’s so much-

Forgive me. I doubt you came here for a lecture.” Pulling in a soft gulp.

“Again.” The tips of his ears turned a faint red.

“No, but if you have one prepared I would love to hear it!” Guinevere replied, smirking ever so widely at the Blonde haired Commander. Eluding ever so subtly to the lecture he had given her over a week ago now.

“Another time perhaps.” Cullen replied between his chuckling. “I- uh. There’s still a lot of work ahead.”

“Commander, Ser Rylen has a report on our supply lines.” A scout interrupted, pulling Cullen’s thoughts away from the Herald.

“As I was saying.” Sweeping his arm toward the scout, as he moved to speak with his newest distraction. Hand yet again rubbing the back of his neck.

Guinevere took that as he cue to leave, honestly feeling a little miffed by the abrupt ending to their conversation. Her left hand moved to wring out the opposite wrist, now that she was free to display her unease with being so personal with an unfamiliar Templar.

“Herald?” Reeling as Cullen’s hand again gripped her elbow.

 _Well, this is unexpected_.

“If I can do anything to make up for the way I treated you, just let me know.”

“I-I actually need some help.”

 _Maker’s Balls, I’m asking him_?

“How do I best fight Templars?”

His face skewed, this discussion would need to happen another time.

—   —   —   —   —   —   —   —   —

As promised, Cullen was awaiting her in the now deserted  harbor of Haven.  

A circle had been drawn into the dirt, and Solas was leaning against his staff as he babbled aimlessly with the Commander. Varric had moved a box to watch on the sidelines, somehow well aware of the training session that was about to take place. Cassandra was following the line of the circle, Guinevere wasn’t sure why she was here. Cullen should be able to control her magic to a safe level by himself, as any Templar would be able to.

“So she has arrived.” Stated Solas, hardly needing to turn his head to announce the arrival of the red headed Mage.

Guinevere gripped at her staff as she stepped into the circle, Cullen followed suit with his sword and shield held in his grip. The Commander had rid himself of his usual armor, opting for a white tunic that seemed far too thin for the crisp air of the night.

“Solas will cast us a barrier, while Cassandra will keep your magic from growing too strong. So I don’t have to.”

“Alright.”

“We’ll practice with a little bit of basic sparring, to get a basic feel of how Templars fight. You’d usually have Cassandra here to take the heavy blows, but sometimes that will fail you.”

“Sounds good.” Answers short on account of nerves. The familiar tingle of the barrier across her skin was little comfort.

“Three, two, one.”

The Commander rushed at her, shield angled slightly down. Guinevere’s staff made half a turn, but her body crumpled. Flailing where she should have braced, or fled. Habits weren’t easy to break.

“Herald!” Rang out Cassandra.

Cullen stopped, glancing at the woman curiously. Her hands were white against the wooden staff, breath ragged. Something suddenly wasn’t settling just right in his stomach.

“I think our Herald here has never fought. Well, fought anything other than a demon.” Varric chimed in, his tone contained mirth. This was far more amusing than he should admit. It was either an unbelievable beginning to the ‘Well, Shit Trevelyan’ story… or a short interlude to the ‘Death of Trevelyan and the Damning of the Entire World’.

“Is that right?” Cullen’s hand moved to rub his temples. “Cassandra.”

“I’m sorry.”

It was silent longer than Guinevere appreciated. Shakily she pulled herself up, watching as Cassandra and Cullen argued with one another. Cassandra seemed to have more faith in her then Guin had in herself. Cullen was plainly frustrated, unhappy about this turn of events. The mage felt ready to puke, it wasn’t easy to admit something like this. Less easy to have it so casually displayed. Unable to face the group, she turned her back finding sudden interest in the empty paddock. Ignoring the welling of liquid in the corner of her eyes.

“Three days! And after those three days, if I am not impressed we are rethinking our strategy. A noble name could do just as well in gaining support.” Cullen said in a huff.

“I believe she can do it,” stated Cassandra plainly. “She has to do it.”

“Demons translate well to fighting men, once the initial shock is over.” Solas’ support was not expected, but it helped Guinevere face the group again.

Cullen was back in the circle, looking ready to charge again.

“Three, two…one!”

This time Guinevere was a little more prepared, staff spinning quickly as blue magic cackled. It arched in an instant at Cullen, lurching for the first bit of metal it could find. Which was foolish, if Guinevere had thought to think fully about her situation. As quickly as the lightning had left her staff, it had bounced back in her face. Her mind felt foggy, as the Commander stopped within an inch of her. Face still unhappy.

“At least I managed something.” Guinevere joked dryly. Flinching just slightly. “And learned something!”

“Something.” But was that a hint of a smile from the Commander?

—   —   —   —   —   —   —   —   —

The Commander’s shield touched her arm yet again. Pivoting on the heel of one foot, Guinevere threw her staff to the ground. He was mumbling to himself again, sounding more frustrated then he did when this had happened just moments earlier. It had been a long second day of drilling the Herald. When she did not cower from the threat.

To make matters worse, a small crowd had assembled. This could not be good for the image of the Herald.

“I think you are being too soft on her, Curly.” Varric interjected, ignoring Guin’s glare, “I’m against hitting a Lady, but she will never learn unless she feels it.”

Cullen paused, a little unsure if that would be the right course of action. After the Mage had finished glaring at the dwarf, she looked to be considering it.

“I’m up for it. Unless the Commander lacks the merit.” Squeezing her hand almost into a fist as if cupping something, the twinge of mischief brightening her smile.

“That’s a challenge, Curly.”

“Ugh.” Hearing Cassandra over the ripple in the crowd.

“I hope your glibness does you credit, Herald.”

“Guin.”

Cullen grasped the wooden sparring sword, the lighter and wooden shield in his other hand. Shaking his head at the woman. It couldn’t be that horrible to oblige, his Ladyship had challenged him. The men watching couldn’t see him go easy on her, just because she was the Herald.

“Three, two…ONE!”

Cullen charged in, as her staff spun. He braced himself for the impact, but found himself tripping over his own feet. The mage had moved out of his way, as the butt of the staff came jutting out for his head. With an extension of his shield the jab was blocked, the staff sent back into her hands. His sword aimed for her head, but it was blocked by the mage holding the staff straight before her with both hand a foot back to parry the blow strongly. She was smiling, and it was almost a shame to have to wipe it from her face.

The Commander swung his shield into her open chest. The Herald fell to the cold ground.

The smile had at least stayed.

It wasn’t the last time she would meet the ground that night.

—   —   —   —   —   —   —   —   —

Guinevere ached, her ass was so bruised it was uncomfortable to sit. Even her hands didn’t like gripping anything, her body was in full protest of any of her meals. Tomorrow she was slated to leave for Redcliffe, at the approval of the Commander, of course. She didn’t like admitting it to herself, she felt ready. It had only been three days of hard training…but much of her trepidation had passed. A thick and heavy hand landed on her shoulder.

“How are you feeling today, Freckles?”

“Good.”

Varric slid backwards into the seat next to her, elbows barely managing to rest on the table.

“I think I can beat him today.”

Varric raised an eyebrow, “Should I be taking bets?”

Guinevere chuckled, lowering her fork. “I wouldn’t advise that. But I will knock him out of those smug little socks… maybe even that smug shirt.” She countered boldly, smirking.

“Curly better watch out!” Varric said in a chuckle. Leaving Guinevere to finish her meal in relative peace.

—   —   —   —   —   —   —   —   —

Haven was oddly silent that night. Was it nerves? Had she been too bold in speaking with Varric earlier. All day people would be whispering and then suddenly stopped as she approached. Josephine had been extra twittery around her, even Leliana had herbs sent to her- that would supposedly help loosen her up and ease the pain.  Not that they hadn’t worked, it was an oddly timed gesture. Even the Commander couldn’t look her in the eyes -well, more than usual.

As she slipped through the main gates, her heart dropped.

The training circle was surrounded. Now all the faces were turned in her direction. Varric was the most visible, standing on a box accepting money.

“Here comes the challenger! Last chance to place a bet!” called Varric.

Was it time to run now? Bets were being placed on that, and as she walked through the circle the Commander couldn’t dare to look at her. Cassandra was blushing, but smiling at the Herald. Varric appeared suddenly at her elbow.

Guinevere took the first step into the circle, Cullen finally managing to meet her in the eye. “Let’s get this madness over with.” He growled.

“No magic, that’s the only rule. First to the ground loses.” Varric announced, winking at Guinevere, who responded with a confused look. This was very new.

“Three, TWO… ONE!” Cried Josephine excitedly as the two were ready on opposite sides of the circle.

Cullen rushed at the Herald, impatient to get this duel over with. Hoping that after this the crowd would leave, after all the fun was done. Guinevere dodged to the left, jarring his shield from the side. It was an easy pivot to catch the mage again, who grounded her staff at angle into the ground. He aimed left, right, then right again. Guinevere dodged each blow by switching what side of her staff she stood on, decreasing the angle of her staff as she moved further back. After the third blow to the staff, she took the far end in her hand stabbing it once to each side of the Templar. The blows easily deflected to the side, as he advanced.

He lunged, slashing across her chest, shield tucked tightly into his chest. The staff held parallel to the ground blocked the sword. As the blow sent his arm back, the shield moved from his chest. Swinging out just enough to catch his balance, that was the moment Guinevere waited for. Staff still held aloft she slammed the end of it into the exposed corner of his shield. The momentum flung the shield out of his grip. Rather than deciding to reach for the shield on the ground, Cullen advanced fury renewed as his left arm stung quite painfully from being stretched in such a rough and extreme angle so quickly.  Guin blocked by grounding her staff at an angle once again, gaining herself some ground to again attempt jabbing him with the staff. Using it like a spear.

Catching on to this method, he lurched forward the wooden sword catching the staff harshly from the opposite end she held it. It worked, but not as well as he liked, as only one hand had managed to be displaced. The Herald retracted with a twirl, flexing her hands against the wood of the staff. Boldly she lunged forward, trying to aim for his now open left side. Guinevere had misjudged as the man had lunged also, the hilt of his sword back pedaled into her shoulder. One knee touched the ground, and the crowd went wild..

“Ass on ground, Freckles.”

In a fluid movement the mage was back up, finding herself quickly needing to ground her staff yet again. This time the mage did not move back far for space. After his flurry of blows concluded instead of thrusting the staff up at him, she used the butt end of the staff to ram into his stomach. Cullen had moved to begin fending of her jabs at a wider angle leaving his belly exposed. He gasped, trying to regain air as a last final blow smacked him across the right side of his face. Sending him toppling to the ground.

The roar through the crowd rippled. Guinevere could scarcely believe it.

Turning she saw the Commander still on the ground, he had managed to sit but was rubbing the side of his head where the blow had made contact.

“Best two out of three!” He half snarled, swatting at the hand Guinevere had so graciously offered him.

“Curly, I wouldn-”

“No. Varric.”

With a shrug he took the chance to make money of this situation. Cassandra was arguing shortly with the Commander, Leliana watched, and Josephine twittered again in Guinevere’s ear. The blood was pulsing too quickly through them for Guinevere to register much. Especially the excited chatter of the Ambassador.

“Three, two, one!” Josephine’s Antivan accent trilling 'three’.

The blonde Templar charged with more ferocity this time. His temple visibly throbbed in the action of extending his shield forward, ready to bull rush the mage. Guinevere hadn’t spent all of her time being thrown to her ass just whimpering about it (well, not all of it). No, she had been watching his reactions…reading for physical clues to what he would no next. The clenching of his temples meant his shield was going to be thrust at her.

It the only move she could perform in such a short time was thrusting the end of the staff between the shield, and the man. Grounding it between the force of both her hands. Cullen balked, almost freezing in place. The crowd was silent, waiting for Guin to deliver her blow. His honey colored eyes looked at her with shock, and the tiniest bit of fear.

“Curly? Freckles?” The dwarf’s voice daring to question why the two had frozen.

“She’s got him by the -.” Came a random voice, able to see what had happened from their angle.

“Low blow, Freckles!”

With a wicked grin the mage drank in the vulnerable Templar’s face. “Down,” she commanded in a whisper. Pressing the staff ever so carefully against his sensitive parts.

“You can’t be enjoying this!” He retorted in a whisper, despite the situation he found himself almost chuckling.

“Oh, I like seeing Templars on their knees.” Guin hissed playfully. “First though, get rid of those weapons.”

“Oh, that’s surprising.” The tips of his ears flamed a bright red. Honey eyes shifted darker.

He obeyed, throwing aside first the shield then his sword. Guinevere made the first move at attempting a truce by moving her staff just enough so he could move without hitting a sensitive organ. Cullen’s eyes watched her face carefully as he slid to his knees. The butt of the staff carefully placed against his chest until he was coaxed into sitting directly on the ground.

The crowd roared once again, as Guinevere hoisted her staff in triumph. The moment of glory was short lived, as guilt crept into her conscious. Her gaze went down to the Commander, who was looking about in mild disdain.

“I’m sorry, if I offended.” Reaching out her hand in earnest. Forcing the smile from her face, this was Guinevere trying to be sincere. The fighting between them would only make this more difficult for the both of them. Having him already acting so gruff and surly toward her was already more than she liked to bare. She could easily pick fights, but didn’t enjoy staying in them.

“I might have deserved it.” Cullen giving the woman a smile out of the corner of his lips, it took him a few uncomfortable moments to decide to accept her help. Just as her hand lowered to leave him be, he gripped the smaller hand. Letting her support some of his weight as he rose to his feet. “I think we don’t need to train any longer today.”

Guinevere nodded, releasing his hand. Varric was done with the crowd, pockets and purse filled with money.

“You did it, Freckles!” Clapping her arm in enthusiasm. “No one doubted you, so I had to fudge the numbers in his direction.” The dwarf said with a wink.

“Oh, Commander!” Cassandra blurted out in her thick accent, much too loudly. Causing Guinevere stop in her tracks.

“I almost forgot, the other part of the bet!” Varric said cheerily.

“The other part?” Guinevere asked, focusing on the Commander who had frozen in his tracks.

“I should have known, dwarf.” Tone in half a snarl.

Cullen’s hands pulled at the fabric of his white tunic and tugged it up over his head. Throwing the shirt into Guinevere’s arms. Guinevere at this moment couldn’t say, she wasn’t looking. As was three-fourths of the crowd drawn, looking at Cullen’s well muscled chest and stomach. The lightest lining of light brown hair accenting the v shaped muscles that led below his leather breeches.

“My socks are not part of the deal!” Cullen added grumpily, glaring at the dwarf. His honey eyes turned to the Herald, softening considerably. “Your due, Lady Trevelyan.”

“Is it too late to add-  The loser, looses their shirt?”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Be warned, an animal dies. At the end.

The last three weeks had been the longest on record.  Birds flew in regularly enough from Redcliffe’s Hinterlands to know the party was doing well. They had even managed to send in a request for Watchtowers to be erected, so that Horsemaster Dennet felt confident supplying the Inquisition with horses. But little could stop the worry that bubbled in his throat each time another bird came with a message.

Could it be?

Was she alright? Well, were they alright. They.

Cullen had barely given the Herald permission to leave the morning they were set to depart. Something that he had tossed between regretting, and some pride. Though, the Mage had given him a lashing, she had managed to improve greatly over the course of a few short days. He knew it couldn’t be all his tutelage, the woman had talent enough, it was just easy to take the credit for her conquered fears. Even at the whispers of his soldiers.

Whispers, which at this moment. Were not in the least silent, cursing the gnawing headache he shoved open the Chantry doors.

“Your kind killed the Most Holy!” Challenged a Templar.

“Lies- _Your_ kind let her die!” Spat the Mage.

“Shut your mouth, mage!” The Templar drew his sword, but was interrupted by Cullen already placing himself between the two men. Shoving the Templar aside more roughly than the mage.

“Enough!” The Commander growled.

“Knight Captian!”

“That is _not_ my title,” tone subconsciously distraught for those few words, as painful memories pressed, “We are _not_ Templars any longer. We are _all_ part of the Inquisition!”

“And what does that mean, exactly?”

Cullen held back a growl as the sniveling man approach, injecting himself into an already tense situation. 

“Back already, Chancellor? Haven’t you done enough?” In the least, this turn had shifted the focus from the fight, to the mutual dislike of the Chancellor who thought to threaten the being of the Inquisition.

“I’m curious, Commander,  as to how your Inquisition and its “Herald” will restore order as you promised.” His arm extended out to the crowd, trying to gain support from the audience. Which failed.

“Of course you are.” Cullen snarled, repressing the urge to simply deck the man for even hinting at insulting his Herald. This conversation was not for the mass gathered, especially if it did turn ugly. The crowd was dismissed, glaring sternly at the few stragglers.

Until something much more pleasing, and worrying caught his attention. Causing him to almost forget about the Chancellor. The Herald had returned, the calls of her arrival were likely drowned out by the mob gathered at the Chantry’s door step. Guinevere’s arm was thrown over Cassandra’s shoulders in support, the pair of them hobbling slowly up the path. Cassandra was the first to speak, catching the first hint of Cullen’s unappeased arm folding.

“It was the horse.” She stated plainly, Guinevere grinning suddenly as the Seeker looked at the woman she was acting as a crutch for. “Our Herald did well fighting, I am pleased to report.”

“Templar bastards didn’t know what hit them.” Guinevere almost challenged through her bright grin.

Cullen let the corner of his mouth raise in a smile, more glad than he would admit to see the Herald in a single, happy piece.

“What’s going on here?” The Herald questioned, after Roderick had cleared his throat for the third time.  Waving her crutch away from her in a silent sweep.

“Mages and Templars were already at war. Now they are blaming each other for the Divine’s death.”

“Which is why we require a proper authority to guide them back to order!”

Guinevere’s forehead creased with the interruption, a spark lit between those blue-green eyes. The Commander’s arms folded, somehow expecting the worst. But the mage bid her tongue, jaw clenching tightly.

“Who, you? Random clerics who weren’t important enough to be at the Conclave?” Cullen challenged, obviously tired of dealing with this nuisance.

“The rebel Inquisition and its so called “Herald of Andraste”? I think not.”

“If the “proper” authority hadn’t _completely_ failed, the Conclave wouldn’t have been needed.” Challenged the Mage, for the Commander. Pulling herself in tighter, though the corner of her lip revealing the effort it took.

“So you suggest I blame the Chantry and exalt a _murderer_? What of justice?” Roderick moved closer to Guinevere with each word, spittle spraying with each angry word. An accusing finger pointed at the “muderer”. The angry Templar placed himself between the two battling parties, a hand firmly pushed the snake away. Not bothering to grant him an expression to vulture off, his honey eyes focused directly on the mage, grip tender on her shoulder. Guinevere’s expression was mixed. Nothing would make him ever doubt her innocence in this matter. The other hand briefly reached for the woman’s other shoulder.

Cullen tested out a reassuring smile, and Guin obliged.

“That won’t help restore order in the here and now.” The words came out softer, lower. His hands giving the shoulders a last assuaging squeeze.

“Order will never be restored so long as this rebellion is allowed to fester.” The Chancellor was persistent, refusing to back down.

“Well, let’s hope we find solutions, and not a cathedral full of Chancellors.” Guin drawled in retort.

Cullen was pleased to not be facing the Chancellor at this moment. “The stuff of nightmares,” his response cheery, knowing it would be found offensive.

“Mock if you will. I’m certain the Maker is less amused.” Roderick’s hand hooking behind his back, as the hint had finally processed.

“The Maker can suck my tit.”

—   —   —   —   —   —   —   —   —

Guinevere had her foot healed as quickly as possible, and by quickly as possible meant magic. Because the mage already had a plan, and her gears were in overdrive. She had meant to do this weeks ago, but being found lacking in the area of fighting. Her plans had been changed by a single Templar. Though, the plan was already admittedly sketchy and was falling through very quickly. She had roped the Elven girl that had awoken her over a month ago, into pulling some of the pieces together for her. Perhaps Guinevere was abusing the girl by asking so much…but she listened (and obeyed) eagerly on every word.

The biggest, literal, problem was the infernal hoofed mammal needed to transport a cart.

Upon seeing the woman even looking in the creatures direction had it stirring. Once the red-headed female reached his paddock the horse whinnied. Pawing at the ground.

Guinevere looked from side to side, hoping that no one had yet noticed. So far, so good.  

The saddle was hoisted to the paddock. The other horses glanced at her, flicking an ear at the commotion the brown gelding was causing.

“Herald?”

“C-cassandra!”

“What are you doing?”

Guinevere turned to face the Seeker, trying to seem unassuming. Blocking the view of the tack slung over the fence.

“Sure seems suspicious.” Chimed in Varric.

_Dammed Dwarf._

“I was trying to make friends,” pulling the sugar cubes from her pocket.

“Not with that horse.”

“Not for lack of-”

“Herald! I found a cart, and my brother A-” The girl dropped her crate, glancing at Cassandra and Varric in growing horror.

“Nothing you say, Freckles?” Varric chuckled.

“What is this all about? Are you running? You are damming us all if you leave Thedas to these demons!” Started in Cassandra. “How selfish and-.”

“Before we accuse the Herald here of damming the world into eternal ruin, I think we should hear her side of the story.” Pleading with the angry Cassandra, “I’ve got to hear this first.”

“What is all this commotion about, this is distracting the recruits.”

The Herald was rubbing her forehead, keeping her glance cast down. It was just fitting the Commander would happen upon the utter unwinding of her plan.

“Out with it.” Cassandra was getting annoyed.

“I need to go to the Temple.”

“No, absolutely not.” Cullen’s response came in half a second.

“Why.. -oh.” Cassandra’s usually rough features softened.

“Commander, we should go.”

“Curly, I have to say I agree.”

“And why the foray into demon infested territory?” The Commander wasn’t going to relent easily.

“It’s personal.” squeaked Guinevere.

“What is so personal it can’t wait until we find a way to close the Breach?”

“Commander, a word please.”

—   —   —   —   —   —   —   —   —

“How about the time I changed the words in The Chant of Light, during an Elven apprentice’s first reading.” Guinevere giggled, “The girl was only five, and had barely learned to speak in common tongue. She never did manage to get it right.”

“You, Freckles?” Varric said mid-laugh.

“I’ve done worse.” She offered, splaying out her hands with her shrug, tugging the reigns to the side in her ignorance. _One._

“Please, don’t keep it to yourself.” He goaded on, both ignoring the looks that could kill from Cassandra.

“I once convinced a few, very young, very impressionable children that apples were the Maker’s balls, and that he would be angry if anyone ate them.” Guinevere was a known glutton for apples, this fact surprised no one at all. “So one time after service the Revered Mother offered the children apples, and a girl screamed, exclaiming; ‘No, I don’t want the Maker mad at me because I ate his balls!'”

“Just how old was she?”

“Five.” Guinevere stated proudly, digging her heals into the side of her mount in delight. _Two._

“You’re horrible!” Cassandra gasped, words a mix between cross and disbelief.

“Careful on the ice ahead.” Warned Cullen, trying to shift the subject. Though he found the conversation amusing, and a a little appalling he didn’t want to deal with Cassandra’s wrath. Especially if he accidentally managed to let a chuckle escape. He was in the unfortunate position of being beside her, he would rather be next to the horse rider before her.

“There must be more.” Varric prodded, enjoying the uncomfortable aura the Seeker was projecting. It wasn’t just for his own sake, he was trying to keep Guinevere from becoming too mopey. Already the Herald’s chest was deflating, Varric was well aware these people were dead now. “I like these stories.”

“Alright…,” Guinevere began, shifting her eyes from side to side, “I found the most scandalous, stringy bit of underwear I could find. Funnily enough, in the  Revered Mother’s private collection.” She leaned forward unsteadily in the saddle. “Before service I hung the underwear in the statue of Andraste’s open hand.”

“That can’t be it!”

“You’re both horrible!” cried Cassandra.

Guinevere grinned slyly.

“No one was either brave, or stupid enough to point this out to the Revered Mother during service. So after she was done leading the service, I raised my hand. Being unwise to my previous transgressions during services, she entertained my question. Very seriously, I asked her- “What is the symbolism of the knickers Andraste holds aloft?” She turned to look at the statue, and went red. We didn’t have service for weeks, until a new Revered Mother could be found.”

Cullen snickered, as even Cassandra’s hardest glare could not stop him. Varric smirked proudly. As Guinevere launched into her own bout of laughter, she wasn’t very good at not laughing at her own jokes. Her hand striking against the backside of the horse. _Three._

“If you are ever forced to go to service again, I have to be there.”

The creature had finally had even of the bad equestrianism the female had displayed. The three major offensives happened with a few short minutes, but the abuses had continued all day. He was often being steered in the wrong direction, she pulled for no reason and her feet kicked often. The woman had also somehow had managed to ignore the horse’s warning signals of downward pressed ears.  Topped off with walking over a frozen river, the bay horse was not a happy creature. Out of nerves, he reared as the rider struggled to maintain her grip. The horse also lost his precarious grip on the ice as his weight had distributed in a way he had not planned for. Rider and beast came crashing down.

Luckily the mage had rolled in time to avoid being crushed by the beast, the reigns wrapped around her ankle unnoticed. But the sheet of ice over the river had other ideas, as the force of the creature falling caused the ice to break under the weight. The horse had no chance against the current of the freezing water, and was pulled under. The shock likely killing the creature before it felt itself drown. The reigns snapped light, pulling the Herald with it.

Her fingers gripped vainly at the ice as she felt herself being pulled with the current.

What a shitty way to end things.


	5. Chapter 5

_Thhwap_!

With a sharp tug Guinevere felt herself being pulled forward, a hand had managed to pull the armpit hole of her leather bolero. A glittering sword rested on her other side, before it crossed over her back. As strong, warm arms pulled the smaller body into itself.

The Herald had seemed to not hear any warnings about the reigns wrapped around her ankle, as the rider behind the woman, it was up to him to rescue her. He had made it just in time, and well before she was dragged even halfway into the water. They were already too far away from Haven, and too close to the Temple to want to leave before reaching their, her, goal.

Cullen let out a grunt as the figure in his arms held tightly to him, shaking like a frightened animal. In passed a controlled breath, the scent of jasmine assaulting his nose. The Templar’s grip tightened, barring himself against doing anything further inappropriate. Which inappropriate felt in this moment like doing anything more than breathing.

Varric cleared his throat.

“Are you alright?” Extending his arms attempting to look the Herald in the eye. Guinevere nodded meekly.

“What were you thinking? Kicking the horse, pulling on-.” He immediately felt bad for asking, seeing a tear well up in the corner of the Herald’s eye.

“I don’t know how to do any of this!” Guinevere cried out, folding her arms to regain some of the pride she had just allowed to escape. “I’ve been in a circle my entire life. I. Don’t. Know. Anything.”

“You keep expecting me to do all these things, without being prepared. I’m the _worst_ person for this. I can’t ride a horse, start a fire without magic… I am absolutely a burden to this Inquisition. I’d die if I wasn’t being constantly babysat.”

“You not being here, is not an option.” Half bear growled Cassandra.

“You’re _so_ supportive.” Huffed Guinevere, ripping herself out of Cullen’s touch. Although she tiptoed carefully away from the exposed water.  Turning her back to the group.

“Well,” started Cullen carefully, “we won’t just leave you here. The least we could do is finish this, and I could instruct you on horse back riding. So you can go wherever you want.”

Slowly she turned, eyes softening slowly as her anger ebbed. Cullen hadn’t bothered to seek permission from the Seeker first, slowly offering his hand.

“Alright.” Guin offered softly, taking the extended hand somewhat roughly.

—   —   —   —   —   —   —   —   —

“Good, now just remember to only use your feet when directing the horse to go faster or forward. If the need is pressing.” The Herald had managed to calm by this point, picking up the basics of horse riding as quickly as one could. She was a quick study once the time was taken to teach her. Cullen found himself smiling, _helping a pretty lady isn’t horrible either_. Perhaps he was too happy to have the mage pressed flush against his chest. His arms over hers, hands guiding above her smaller ones in instruction of how to hold the reigns just so.

“My family raised horses, Friesians, I always thought they were beautiful.” The mage blathered, now that the lesson had mostly ended by this point. “There was a gray one once. It was beautiful.”

Cullen let her talk, afraid that now the lesson was over he would say something insensitive again, or do something inappropriate. Which was again a hairline away from breathing. If also being frank, he was thinking of a way to patch this over with the glowering Seeker. Fighting with Cassandra now would just make Guinevere further upset, an action to avoid, as the lady had just stopped crying. Which he had excellently ignored, and protected the others from seeing the Herald upset.

“I’m sorry to ramble.” Cullen could feel the woman start pulling back into herself. As she shook his grip, and arms from her.

“I want to ask you something…kind of personal. About Templars.”

An eyebrow raised, how back could this be?

“Do Templars take vows? Like, I promise to serve the Maker?”

—   —   —   —   —   —   —   —   —

The trip to the door of the Temple was quite uneventful. Guinevere had managed to befriend Cullen’s paint horse well enough, and had managed to stop accidentally kicking the animal, or jerking it around. As promised Guinevere only lead them as far as the opening of the building, where a lone figure of an armored Templar corpse laid.  Cullen knew there was a body of a friend to retrieve, but he did not expect that body to be one in full Templar armor. He dismounted from the horse, grabbing control of the creature once the Herald had ran forward to the body, falling to her knees beside it.

“What were you thinking? Letting her leave?” Bellowed Cassandra.

“Not all recruits respond to screaming.” Trying to play off the situation in a  lighter mood.

“How are we going to seal that thing, without whatever is in her hand?!?” Cassandra pressed.

Varric intervened, “We can’t make her stay. Not everyone is a hero.”

“So we just let the world be overrun?” Arguing loud enough to make Guinevere look at the three of them.

“I don’t think she will leave, Seeker. Freckles just needs time to adjust. It might be easier you if stopped growling at her once in a while.” Varric said haughtily, as Cullen let out a short snort. “Besides, now that Curly is being sweet on her, how can she not stay!” Varric winked at the Commander.

“I am n- how could I be!” Cullen resorted to giving the dwarf a steely glare. “Who is this Kell?”

“A friend. She was with him, and others before the Conclave. Part of some mage group focused on cooperation between the Mages and Templars.” Cassandra dropping her anger down a notch, “I am assuming they all died, the few surviving mages from the Ostwick Circle were with her.”

“It’s also where she got the ribbon, we thought she was just looting corpses randomly.” Varric continued “Looks like you might have competition Curly, even though he is dead.”

“I _swear_ -.” Cullen began, folding his arms tightly.

“I know we like shooting the breeze on a freezing possibly demon infested peak, but I’d like to get off Andraste’s upturned tit before we end up as titsicles” Called Guinevere. Awaiting the cart being pulled behind Varric’s mount.

Varric obliged, leaving the Seeker and Commander to speak privately.

“We can’t let her leave, Cullen.”

“I’m well aware of that, I think I know a way to fix this.”

Cassandra blinked up at him, her face skewing into something he could quite not read, “Varric _is_ right!”

“Now both of you!” Calling after Cassandra as she moved after Varric. Letting Cullen attend to the two horses left.

He watched them place the body in the cart, the corpse was not rotten. The blast at the Conclave has stripped any flesh from the body, which for now seemed best. Otherwise the corpse would be putrid, and having Guinevere witness that could send her into shock. How the ribbon survived was a miracle, perhaps the Maker did have some mercy.

—   —   —   —   —   —   —   —   —

“I am sorry for your loss, Herald.” Another offered consolation, by his count alone it must have been the twentieth person to do so.

The Herald had agreed to hold a pyre for all of Haven. Using Kell’s body in honor of all the victims that had died at the Conclave. After the fight earlier, it was nice to see the budding Inquisition work together, and enjoy a few quiet and peaceful moments. Many cried, including the Herald who did so openly. The ribbon almost constantly pressed against her lips. Cullen wasn’t sure whether or not to approach, but after a couple hours he had worked up the courage.

Guinevere sat on the ground, arms circling her knees, as her chin rested atop them. The flickering flames of the pyre danced crossed Guin’s glum face. With a roll her gaze turned to him, inviting him over with a flick of her head.

“I heard we are thinking of going to Val Royeaux. Are you alright with that, truly?” Placing himself cross legged beside her.

“I am. I see everyone here, how they are suffering. I can help. Even if it ends up for nothing.”

“Not expecting a friendly conversation with the Chantry?”

“With my luck, somebody is going to end up on the ground.”

“That well?” Cullen laughed, shaking his head in the vision.

“I’m serious! Somebody is going to call me a murderer, and I just might-,” Guinevere stopper her sentence, “Unless I _did_ do it. Caused all those people to die.”

“I would never believe it.” Cullen offered, cheeks turning a soft red. That had came off more desperate than he had hoped.

Guinevere regarding him curiously, eventually submitting by smiling. The faintest hint of red graced her cheeks.  The Herald pushed herself from the ground, had he scared her away.

“I don’t meant to just leave you, but I am worn. It’s been a long day.”

“Goodnight, Herald.”

“It’s Guin.”

“Goodnight, Guinevere.” His words brightening her smile. As the mage started to stalk away from the fire.

“Oh, Cullen.” Stopping suddenly in her tracks.

“Yes?”

“Thank you for earlier,  perhaps the ‘Herald’ needed someone to understand her too.”

“Any time you are in need of me, I am here.” 

“Don’t misunderstand, Templar, this does not mean I like you.” Guinevere stated wryly, sensing, seeing, the grin manifested across her face.


	6. Chapter 6

The Herald and her parties had returned finally from Val Royeaux, bringing along two more interesting, and equally different party members.

Vivienne was a tall, ebony, and graceful. Her gaze was sharp, and her words matched that gaze equally. Guinevere had spent some time along her side, listening and learning intently from a Mage that had managed to do well in the Courts. All of her conversations were not pleasant, as Vivienne had mentioned Senior Enchanter Lydia….and her demise. Upon seeming upset, Guinevere was told to suck it in. To not let it bother her. It was a harsh reprimand, but a lesson the Herald could certainly use. The woman had betrayed a soft smile, and assured Guinevere that it was not her fault.

But she would never agree about Circles being needed, Templars yes, but the prisons never. They agreed to disagree, and stuck to other subjects.

Sera…what could Guinevere say about Sera? The elf was definitely weird. Not just in the way of being an elf, but in everything she did. From the sunrise watching, as the girl blathered on at her side, to the pranks she pulled Guinevere into committing. Mostly at the disapproval of Madame de Fer.    
The blonde elf was a breath of fresh air.

Keeping her title from riding too far up her skirts, or head too far in the ground. She found herself pulled between these two very different females. Spending a little more time away from the half-bear Cassandra, and I-needed-the-short-answer Solas.

Guinevere found Cassandra at her side, escorting them into the Chantry. The advisers were already waiting, Josephine spoke first. “We heard of your encounter.”

“You heard?” Cassandra was surprised, not at all pleased.

“My agents in the city sent word ahead. Of course.” Of course Leliana would know, even Guin could have guessed at that.

Cullen crossing his arms drew Guinevere’s attention, reflexively pulling of a guilty grin in his direction. “It is a shame the Templars have abandoned their senses, as well as the capitol.” Raising his eyebrows ever so softly in her direction.

Cassandra continued forward, Cullen fell momentarily beside Guinevere. “It is also a shame the Herald did not punch someone, herself.”

The Commander strode ahead, leaving Guinevere to grin foolishly to herself. But that quickly changed as they spoke about who she should be going to see next.

“Or you could stop bickering, and make a decision. I’m not deciding anything.”

Guinevere released her jaw as Cassandra agreed with her.  Josephine pushed the mage issue, and Cassandra argued back. Naturally she had wanted to see what the mages in Redcliffe would say, but being forced into it this way wasn’t what she wanted. She let the Bear and Ambassador argue it out, her frown growing deeper with each word. Just for it all to end on the note of ‘we need more influence’, it was enough for Guinevere to want to leave again. Leliana spoke to her briefly of Grey Warden rumors, though annoying to be kept longer she had an excuse to leave again.

Word of the Charger mercenaries in the Storm Coast cemented another reason to leave. Within a couple of hours, the plans were set to leave in two days. First to Redcliffe, then the Storm Coast.

—   —   —   —   —   —   —   —   —

Redcliffe had been just as frustrating as returning to Haven had been. The entire conversation with Alexius had her fuming, sparkles of electricity cackled at her fingertips. Each compliment was grating against her ears. It all had started with not being expected after all. Continued with finding each of these mages had given away their freedom to Tevinter. Guinevere was almost foaming at the mouth, her smile barely managed to seem pleasant. Before Alexius had finished her temper had gotten the better of her, leaving the table in a storm. The table was lucky it had not been upturned in the fits of rage growing up her throat.

As the Magister’s son barreled into her, the mage almost threw him away from her in anger. But a paper had been pressed into her palm, curiosity overwhelming the anger.  As the Tevinter men left, she looked at the letter.

A short conversation later, and it was decided, grudgingly she would at least go to the Chantry.

After repeating Andraste’s hairy cunt…ten times over.

—   —   —   —   —   —   —   —   —

The Storm Coast had been the worst fucking thing ever.

If Guinevere had not been getting sick over watching the rolling waves, or soaked by the miserable rain, she was being attacked by bandits. Granted, after recruiting the Chargers and specifically the Iron Bull, she had rectified the bandit issue. Gaining more followers in turn from the ordeal.

The only thing positive she had to report about the Storm Coast was the chance to witness a High Dragon. Bull immediately wanted to fight it, but the creature had flown off. Leaving them with a grumpy giant.

Which was not so pleasant. Whenever the creature stopped, she was worried she would be hurled into the air.

—   —   —   —   —   —   —   —   —

The Herald had marched straight into the cottage that served as her quarters. Growling at any that dared to bother her. Josephine, was the most distraught by the Herald’s actions.

It really wasn’t intentional, but she had been the first to dare to disturb the Herald, in her sanctuary.  Cullen had overheard indistinct shouting carrying over the walls, then later rumors flew of a very naked and wet Herald chasing the Ambassador from her room. Giving a few, very lucky, viewers a glimpse of the mage in all of her glory.

Of course, any soldier talking about the Herald’s state of undress were punished with push ups, until their arms collapsed under them like jelly. Cullen could say he felt just a twinge of jealousy. But at the moment, checking on the Ambassador was his priority. Secondary to that was a glance at the house Guinevere had barricaded herself in, he saw nothing.

Upon arriving at the Chantry, he saw Leliana already soothing Josephine.

“Cullen, I am afraid there is little to report.” Leliana began.

“I wasn’t here for that, I heard…well, rumors. I wanted to make sure everything was okay.”

“That’s so sweet of you, Commander.” Josie piped in, face slowly transforming in amusement.

“But if I may ask, if there any news?” Cullen turning his attention to Leliana.

“Only that the mages are little more than slaves to Tevinter.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“It’s gotten her quite upset, as I can attest.” Josephine inserted, with a smirk.

“Given her history, it is hardly surprising. Someone from her own circle was part of the group, though by the crude words written, she was hardly a friend. Still, it must be difficult.” Leliana answered, questioning Josie’s growing smirk with a tilt of her head.

“This makes siding with the mages a less viabl-.”

“We should do something nice for her!” Josie interrupted Cullen, not wanting to listen to his rant about the Evil of Mages, Volume X.

“That’s a wonderful idea, Josie!”

“I have not a clue what she likes! Clothes, chocolates, cakes…Flowers!”

“Flowers would be lovely!” Leliana gushed.

Cullen rubbed at the base of his neck, now was the time to exit.

“Where are you going, Commander?”

“I’ll leave you two to _diplomatic relationships_ with the Herald.”

Leliana caught his arm, giving him a look usually only reserved for her spies. “You should give them to her.”

“ _Me_? Give them to her? Because we have a history of getting along so well.” Cullen snarked, almost rolling his eyes. Leliana was just a little scary.

“That’s why you should give them to her.” Josie added, plucking out a bouquet of purples and whites from her desk. They were still fresh, and one of several vying for acreage on her desk.

“Throwing me into the pit? If she yelled at you, she’ll fry me.”

“Hush, all you need to do is look pretty.”

“I’m not! Well, not doing-!” Cullen began to protest, shaking his head at the other woman began to corner him.

“Fine.” Swiping the flowers from Josephine. He couldn’t stand to glare at the sweet Ambassador, but Leliana was easier to glare at.

With steps that hard started at near stomps, had softened by the time he had shuffled to the Herald’s door.  Cullen hesitated at the door, feeling at the same time rushed. It felt like a walk of shame coming to the Herald’s door with flowers. The looks he had received sent him almost over the edge in anger, or embarrassment. Leaving him with a red overtone to his skin, his free hand rubbing vigorously against the back of his head.

The hand moved to hover above the door.

“I can hear you out there, I would suggest you leave!” Came a muffled shout from behind the door.

The commander froze, feeling very unsure of his next move. His fist hovered over the door, and continued to do so as shuffling came from the other side of the door. In a flurry the door opened, the Herald’s blue green eyes piercing into the man at her door. Cullen balked, praising the Maker that the Herald had managed to be clothed. Only the red hair plastered to her checks, and skull had hinted toward a recent bath.

“What?” Her voice barely faltered below shrill. Eyeing the flowers with a look that he would later learn meant disgust.

“I, uh, wanted to, Maker’s breath, be sure you were alright. The others, I, wanted to be certain everything was -.”

 _Achew_. Words interrupted by the soft sneeze Guinevere produced. He continued again. “I have flowers, if you want them, they are -”

 _Acheew_. The lady rubbed beneath her nose with the palm of her hand.

Was it something he wore? Deciding quickly that he was the problem, she shoved the flowers at Guinevere. Her eyes turning unexpectedly harsh.

 _ACCCHOOO_! Burst the most unbecoming, and brutish sneeze Cullen had ever heard. As quickly as he had ridden himself of the flowers, he found them back in his possession. The mage slamming the door in his face.

The Commander pivoted sharply on his heel, barreling toward the nearest fire. Unfortunately, that meant into the laughing face of Varric.

“You know Curly, flowers don’t sit well with the Lady Herald.”

“I noticed.” The blonde snarled, flowers hissing as they met the flame.

“The only plant-like thing she doesn’t sneeze like a Druffalo around is a leaf. But that’s not something exactly romantic, if that was what you were going for.”

“I wasn’t- Nevermind. Never let women talk you into anything.”

“That is an obvious one, Curly.”

With a dismissive wave of his hand, the Commander returned to his drills. His thoughts turned sour, as he felt his confidence deflate. What should it matter that she had thrown the flowers back at it? He was only delivering them as the devil’s advocate. He was even allowing the recruits to goof around, letting them talk…well if their form was perfect enough. For the recruits alone noticed the slight difference, and then began the rumors. Haven was too small, and someone somewhere saw everything that went on within the town.

Cullen found himself toying with the hair curling against his neck. Distracted as the recruits slowly started to move with more lethargy, taking more breaks between the series of swings they took. The Commander was deep into his own world, and they knew to take the break as it was given to them. What shook him from his state, was met with aggression, as the offending object that had slapped him face was caught.

His amber eyes studied the offender- and he took off. Leaving confused recruits.

With long, and quick steps he made his way to Guinevere’s door. Knocking boldly this time, boldness hardly mattered as he was again greeted with a glare.

“What?” Half sneering at the man, her eyes seemed redder than their last meeting.

“Can I please come in, I promise I won’t be long.” He asked, trying to pull the most sincere face he could.

Guinevere studied his face, eyes slowly losing the harsh layer.

“Please, Herald, Guinevere.”

With a disgusted noise she opened the door wider for him. With a few long steps he made it to her table, grabbing an apple from the basket he had made sure was there. Her offered it to the mage, who managed a soft smile as she plopped on the bed. Unable to withstand the temptation of the fruit. With a short grin he sat next to her, before his moment of bravery elapsed.

“If I would have kn-” He was about getting used to being interrupted.

“No, you didn’t know. I shouldn’t have reacted that way.”

“I have something else, if you would humor me.”

Guinevere gave him a questioning look, but nodded. Cullen took the hand closest to him, and free of the apple. Pressing the splotched green and brown leaf into her palm. Her eyes flickered back and forth between the Commander and the leaf. Cheeks glowed with a bright red, a face without powder made it easy to see the small creases and freckles that decorated her face.

“Thanks.” Was all Guin managed to mutter.

The room went mostly silent, as Cullen mentally fought for words. The mage chewing the apple beside him was oddly assuaging.  

“What has you so upset?”

Guinevere stopped mid-chew, swallowing forcefully. “I can’t decide.”

Cullen let the pregnant pause continue, “I don’t feel safe approaching the Templars, I also don’t feel like the Mages deserve our help.”

“Why shouldn’t they be helped?” Ignoring the question he knew the answer to.

“They left the Circle to just enslave themselves to another overlord! The Templars were bad enough, weren’t people to them. Just demons. Sure, Tevinter does not fear magic, but at least the Circles had a little, ugh.” Cullen was almost able to see her thoughts flutter away. “This isn’t the best choice of conversation.”

“It’s warranted. I’ve never thought of how Templars, I, might seem to the charges in the circle. We thought our work holy, and that it protected people. It made some of us blind to the injustice of how we  treated mages, they are people too.”

“All are Templars so just, or just you?” Guinevere teased, nudging the Commander.

“I’m not one of those. But others are.”

“You believe that?”

Guinevere didn’t get an answer, placating herself instead with the apple.

“Now, humor me. What would you do?”

“I would chose my friends,” Cullen said after some thought, “Unless they have become a person I cannot follow.”

Guinevere nodded. “I apologize f-.”

“No, I understand. We have forced you through so much, and to now force you to chose between oppressors, and your own kind who sold themselves into slavery.  I’m not encouraging you to leave, but I would run.”

“Thank you for listening to me.”  Guinevere leaned over to bump her shoulder gently against his. Cullen couldn’t hold back the chuckle as the mage rubbed the side of her hand against where his plated shoulders had collided against her.

“Is Josie mad at me?” She questioned, not wishing to leave them in silence.

“No, I think she regrets pushing you,”  Cullen paused, “You know we all care about you, I think we forget you are a person too.”

“You’re too sweet, Templar.”

“Cullen.”

“Cullen.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry. Got sick twice. Then holiday stuff.
> 
> I did skip the Envy demon in the head bit, but it will show up later.

“Is my good looks you need, or my winning smile?”

 

Words Guinevere would never come to regret more.

 

The mage felt small, shuffling up to the large keep before her. It was daunting, and the very aura from the building bid the mage to flee. She did not belong, and the stone let her know. Guin could feel the Templars in the keep, each another sneering face. Each solely able to drown out the best defense she had. It was a pit of vipers, and the mage a small mouse. Cassandra sensed her unease, taking up the rear so the mage could not run. Vivienne gave her strength, and Sera tried to lighten the mood.

 

But as the Lord Abernache approached, her mood just turned more sour.

 

“Care to mark the moment! Then Orlesian houses walk with you!” Abernache declared ostentatiously. He had exceeded Guinevere's tolerance for pomp in a few minutes of conversation.

 

“Yes, never before has any purchased such an inspiring veneer of kinship.” Her reply started normally enough, but with nerves came sparks, “It's a grand day for genuine partnership and/or servitude.”

 

At least Sera found it amusing.

 

As she crossed the threshold of the bridge, all of her snark and sarcasm left her. The beady eyes of the nobles wasn't so horrible, but throughout the crowd where Templars. As she moved mere inches toward the keep, the crowd became more heavily infested with the brutes. Making her way to the Templar waiting for her was an exercise in control. She wanted nothing more than to run.

 

“I present Knight-Templar Ser Delrin Barris, Second Son of Bann Jervin Barris of Fereldan.” Announced a very Orlesian servant. “Ser Barris, I may be so honored as to present Lord Esmeral Abernache?”

 

The ebony skinned Templar obviously had his focus set on another, the red haired mage approaching. The one that could only be the Herald. Barris boldly walked by Lord Abernache, stopping too closely to Guinevere for her own comfort.

 

“I am the one sent word to Cullen. He said the Inquisition works to close this breach in the veil.” Barris' green eyes rolled, “I didn't think you'd bring such lofty company.”

 

“Barris.. Moderate holdings, your family. And the second son?” Abernache expressing his dislike of so easily being thrown aside with a scoff.

 

“This...promise of status has garnered interest from the Lord Seeker. Beyond sense.” Continuing to ignore the noble, “The sky burns with magic, but he ignores all calls to action until your friends arrive.”

 

A Templar with sense? Better than she was expecting, “Does the Lord Seeker believe the Breach will heal on its own?” Guin found an ounce of humor.

 

“If he does, he's not confiding in us,” drawing half a smile from the Templar, “The Lord Seeker's actions make no sense. He promised to restore the Order's honor, then marched us here to wait? Templars should know their duty, even when held from it.”

 

“A Templar who remembers his responsibilities? I am reassured,” Vivienne added in.

 

“Win over the Lord Seeker, and every able-bodied Knight will help the Inquisition seal the Breach,” Barris urged.

 

“I have a feeling the Lord Seeker will take some convincing.”

 

“I wish I could reassure you. Lately he sees no one but the Officers.” His glanced turned from her, “We have been asked to accept much, after that shameful display in Val Royeaux. Our truth changes on the hour.”

 

“Don't keep your betters waiting, Barris. There's important work for those born to it.” Abernache interrupted angrily.

 

Without another word Barris lead the group into the courtyard, hesitating as he began to speak again.

 

“The Lord Seeker has a...request before you meet him.” Barris lead Guinevere before a set of standards, “These are the standards. An honored rite, centered on the people, the Maker, and the Order. The Lord Seeker has asked that you preform the rite so he may see the order in which you honor them.”

 

“What if I fail?” Surely this was a joke.

 

“There is no 'correct' answer. The ritual simply shows the watchers who you are and what you value.”

 

Guinevere agreed to doing the ritual, only spurred by Abernache proceeding to throw a fit about the ritual being done. The people's flag hoisted the highest, then surprisingly the Templars, followed by the Maker. Vivienne made a click of disappointment.

 

Guinevere refused a reasoning to her choices, after Abernache threw his next fit Barris lead them away.

 

Abernache and Barris argued inside the keep, Guinevere wished to pull her own hair out. It was difficult to just listen, but she knew getting involved would just be worse. Allowing Barris to be the target was easier, and made her angry. Angry was an emotion she could deal with, not this fear.

 

“Knight Captain?” Barris questioned, as the door swung open.

 

“You were expecting the Lord Seeker. He sent me to die for you.” The helmed Templar strode into the room, guards in toe.

 

Guinevere was on sudden edge gearing up to pull out her staff in a moment's notice. Barris gave the Herald a concerned look, but Abernache seemed to not notice the temperament of the room.

 

“Knight-Captain! Lord Esmeral Abernache. Honored. It is not unlike the second dispersal of the reclaimed Dales.” Bowing, and approaching the Knight-Captain, “No doubt rank puts you above such things. A pity more people don't understand that.”

 

The Knight-Captain chuckled at the man, “This is the Grand Alliance the Inquisition offers?”

 

Guinevere warned Abernache to back away from the man.

 

“The Lord Seeker had a plan,” Screaming started to echo from the walls around them, “but the Herald ruined it by arriving with purpose. It sowed too much dissent.”

 

“Knight-Captain, I must know what is going on!” Barris called with worry.

 

“You were all supposed to be changed! Now we must purge the questioning Knights!” The Knight-Captain started in rage.

 

“For once I agree with the-” Abernache slipped to the floor, the very moment the arrow pierced his skull the mage had drawn her staff. Releasing the first chain of lightning. But it was almost too late, as most of the Templars behind her had already been gutted by the traitors.

 

“The Elder one is coming. No one will leave Therinfall who is not stained red!” The Knight-Captain called.

 

Barris already barreled for the man, knocking fiercely into the man. “Maker's Breath!”

 

The battle was over shortly, Barris took the lead as the shouting continued. Leading them through the keep.

 

“Prepare them! Guide them to me!” A voice boomed over head, causing solely Guinevere to look around cautiously.

 

“Was that the Lord Seeker?” Guinevere dared to question.

 

“Where? I did not hear anything?” Cassandra's answer spurred Guinevere into more questions.

 

The group exited the keep, pushing into the Courtyard. Where more fighting waited them, the voice boomed again. “You will be so much more.”

 

But this time Guinevere did not ask, ignoring the voice and putting her energy into fighting. Struggling as she felt the Templars trying to rip away her magic, making Guinevere scream in rage. It felt as if the very air was being taken from her, forcing her down into a weak clump. Survival kept the mage moving, using the staff to slice at each Templar that dared come her way.

 

“Show me what you are!”

 

Deeper they plunged, each purchase of feet requiring more energy. Each corner being met with more of the red Templars, ready to kill.

 

“I would know you!”

 

Some of the uncorrupted Templars screamed at their comrades. Begging them not to attack, to remember who they were. But any pleading was ignored, as Guinevere cut through their comrades. Being saved was bittersweet. Barris lead the group through the tavern, scrambling to go higher into the keep. To find the Lord Seeker.

 

“The Herald of Andraste, it's time we became better acquainted!” The voice came once again, as she rounded up another flight of stairs. “What do you think to accomplish, what do you think to become?”

 

Guinevere looked to those in her party, still they did not react. Cautiously she started up the next set of stairs, glancing at the red door with disdain.

 

As the mage approached the door, a man stood with his back to the arrivals. Perhaps she had been over dramatizing all of this somehow, stress from walking into a pit of swords. To have almost the literal worst happen, the literal worse now would be demons. At least that wasn't happening. With a look to her companions, Guinevere approached the man.

 

Lucius spun on his heel, grabbing the mage roughly by her collar. Words seething from behind his teeth, “At last.”

 

\--- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- ---

 

In what was mere seconds to the companions, and Ser Barris, felt like hours to the mage. In a gut wrenching swirl the door smashed into pieces before her. What was formally the Lord Seeker revealed itself to be a tall and lanky demon. Twisting itself backwards to scream at her before flying into and out of the large ball. Erecting green barriers behind itself.

 

Barris was the first to charge forward, calling after what was the Lord Seeker.

 

“No, an impostor.” Guinevere managed to sputter, as her stomach threatened to release the contents held within.

 

Barris softened, opening his mouth to begin speaking. Guin waved him off, along with her companions. Assuring them that it was not important. Urging them to return their attention to situation at hand, for the time being deciding not to mention anything passed it being an Envy demon. Or Cole. The mage listened with all the attention she could give Barris. Setting out to rescue the three veterans, and find more lyruim for the Templars in the room. 

 

It couldn't go too wrong.

 

\--- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- ---

 

“Officers betraying their soldiers, Templars without leaders, a demon imitating the Lord Seeker...”Cassandra screeched over the table, “We should have taken them to task. The crimes they have committed..”

 

It was obvious to everyone in the room that Guinevere had heard this rhetoric over, and over again. Already her back was starting to turn on Cassandra, her skin prickling with energy. Making Cullen edgy, his hand smoothing over his pommell able to sense the magic rippling underneath the mage's skin.

 

“Were committed by their Officers. The soldiers of the Order will serve.” Cullen cut in.

 

“These crimes put them at our mercy. Yet the terms of this alliance do not benefit the Inquisition as they should!” Leliana decided to pile at the mage, “You should have consulted us, Herald.”

 

“I was supposed to send a raven it pitched battle? Please, forgive me.” Guin's tone was uncharacteristically flat.

 

“An alliance with the Templars was our desired outcome. May we discuss their imminent arrival?” Josephine cut in, trying to stop the other females from furthering spurring on the Herald.

 

“A few dozen veterans are coming ahead of the rest, to help seal the Breach.” Leliana was easily swayed by the Antivan, and cemented the subject change.

 

“How soon will these Veterans arrive?” Guinevere questioned.

 

The answer came from an unexpected place, as the air cracked loudly as Cole apparated on the table.

 

“They're almost here. Templar's don't like to be late.” The boy added, picking up a piece from the table below him.

 

“Maker!” Cullen was the first to get to the mage's side. But instead of being allowed to protect the red-head, he found turquoise eyes at the tip of his sword. The mage placed herself in front of the boy.

 

“I came here to help. I would have told you before, but you were busy.”

 

“Off the War table, Cole. _Now_.” The mage growled. Holding out her arms to try and urge the people behind the swords to back away.

 

“Yes, I don't belong here. I am not a war.” The boy said off offhanded tone.

 

“Call the guards, this creature is not what you-”Cassandra started.

 

“A moment please, Cassandra. I would like to hear why he came.” Leliana acting as a strange voice of reason.

 

“You help people. You made them safe when they would have died. I want to do that. I can help.” Cole pleaded.

 

“Cole saved my life in Therinfall,” Guinevere's voice grew quieter, “I couldn't have defeated Envy without him. Envy was in my head, and he helped me get him out.”

 

“A demon? Were you?” Cullen questioned.

 

Cassandra's glare did not soften, but grew. “What does he want now?”

 

“I think he really is trying to help.”

 

“I won't be in the way. Tiny. No trouble, no notice taken unless you want them to.” The pale boy promised.

 

“You're not honestly suggesting we give him run of the camp?” Cullen hissed.

 

“Not freely, perhaps, but it seems a waste to-” Josie paused, mid peace keeping words, “Hold on! Were did he go?”

 

“It's a good trick, you'll get used to it.” Guinevere muttered, showing the most enthusiasm she had mustered in days.

 

“We must see if he can teach it to anyone else.” Leliana remarked. “I'll have people watch the boy, but let's not be distracted from the Breach.”

 

“We'll need your help when the Templar veterans arrive. Take time to prepare while you can.” Cullen half warned, and half urged. Uneasy about letting the boy go so easily.

 

Guinevere took this as a chance to bolt for the door, but found a sword blocking her progression. Cassandra snarled from behind the blade's hilt.

 

“Why did you not tell us Envy had possessed you!”

 

Guin drew in a deep breath, “I wasn't possessed, he was trying but it didn't happen.”

 

“How can we be sure?” Cassandra challenged.

 

“Wouldn't a Seeker, and several Templars know better?” Guinevere fired back, the small hairs of her body standing at attention.

 

“We were fighting.”

 

“Do you doubt your skills that much, Seeker? Is that why Envy was not satisfied would even the cream of your order?” Guinevere seethed.

 

“Take that back!”

 

“Fuck you, Cassandra,” the mage took a step forward, “now unless you are going to gut me, allow me to leave!”

 

The Seeker's blade did not move, the sharp tip piercing against Guinevere's neck, drawing the first drop of blood.

 

“Maybe I should. Your attitude has been nothing but deplorable, all we would need from you is that hand! Much less back talk and sarcasm.”

 

“Cassandra! Back down. She obviously is not possessed.” Leliana counseled, being brave enough to place her hand over the Seeker's.

 

Cullen wasn't so lucky, as with a single touch the back of her elbow the mage turned on him. A spark of the pent up energy of her body released, while not fatal the spark was far from gentle. Through his short cry, her eyes watered in shame. With the sword no longer an obstacle, the mage flew through the door.


	8. Chapter 8

_'Is this shape useful? Will it let me know you?'_

_No, no, Leliana didn't belong here. They didn't belong in this place. She did not belong in this place, littered with burning bodies, the green sick fog threatening to envelop and drown her. Was this some sort of trick? Is this why the Templars had asked for help? Just to trap her. To contain a mage that had stumbled upon too much power. A mage that did not want to go back to a circle?_

_It was like a Harrowing. But all wrong._

_It didn't look like the fade she knew from her Harrowing._

_Pain blasted through her skull as the magic was torn from her body. Her limbs were weak, her heart beat slower, struggling without the connection so a part of her._

_'Tell me what you think! Tell me what you feel!'_

_The Golden Templar stood above her, squeezing the connection between her and the fade even tighter. His expression was smug, like any other Templar pulling the leash of a mage. As their eyes met, Guinevere was looking down at herself. Swelling in pride over what she had done. Having the bitch on her knees, subject to his will, under his power._

_'Tell me what you see!'_

\--- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- ---

“Dreams, just dreams. Dreams of things only in your head. Envy is gone now. Envy can no longer hurt you.” Cole cooed over the Herald's body.

Laying next to the Herald over the covers. Guinevere groaned, moving to rest on her other side. Trying to take in what little privacy she could afford. Fingers working at the caked goop in the corner of her eyes.

“Cole, why are you in my room? At this hour?” Sleep still tugged at her throat, deepening the tone of her voice.

“I heard it. I heard you. Shadows of memories. Memories that bring fears. Fears of things real, and not real.”

“Cole, I appreciate your concern, but this is proper- or the time.”

“Because of the things that are on, are not on. But are waiting for you in a corner.” Cole questioned in his odd way, placing his hands behind his head.

“Clothes, Cole. They come off.”

“But why does it matter?”

“Cole- Wait. Nevermind. Maybe when you're older.”

“I am older!”

Guinevere chuckled softly, turning back on her other side to look at Cole. A hand tentatively reaching to rest on the muscle of his arm. “Thank you, Cole.”

“It makes me happy to help. Others worry about you. Is she alright? Do we push her too far? He feels sorry for touching. He should not have done that.”

Guinevere sighed deeply, his charm waning as he brought up things she wished not to hear. But it was still nice to have someone near. The rest of the day, after her outburst had been spent locked inside the small cottage set aside for her use. It was punishment. This time she had been left alone, nobody had came to bother her rest. Something to hate, and enjoy. Guin knew keeping it locked in only made it worse, evident by the dreams returning night after night. Even if it was just telling Sera, who would ultimately make fun of her...Or whine about demons. But it was someone, letting some of the burden slip away.

Guinevere clutched the blanket to her chest as the boy popped out of existence.

“Hello to you, too.” She announced to the empty room.

Her next action was much more panicked, as her door opened. Slipping from the bed in a tangle of sheets as the Commander walked into her room, the honey eyed man froze as her state of undress became apparent.

“What are you doing in here?” The Herald shrieked, her back side still bare. The quilt was held up by her arm, gripping it tightly against her breasts.

“You said hello, I thought that meant I could come in.” The Commander spoke, pivoting so his back faced the mage. Hiding a deep blush.

“Can we knock?” Guinevere huffed between wrapping the quilt around her body.

“I did.” Cautiously peaking to check her state of undress. Finding her finally modest, he turned to give his full attention.

“Cole, he must have-”

“Cole was in here? With you?” The red spread splashed over his neck and ears, “Were you two?”

“Maker's balls, no.” Eyes rolling in the mere thought of such a thing.

“Then why was he-”

Cole appeared once again, Cullen's palm ran to the pommel of his blade. A scowl forming across his features.

“I was helping. Nightmares. No one can bother the Herald, make sure they all know. Keep away, in case a demon is there. Give Freckles some time. Her Ladybits needs time to work out her lady bi-.”

“Cole, that is enough!” Guinevere chided.

As quickly as the boy appeared, he was gone again. Cullen's scowl didn't leave, neither did the hand from his pommel.

“Cole- or whatever he calls himself- May have helped at Therinfall, but that doesn't mean we should trust him.”

“I thought we agreed Cole could stay.” Words followed by a heavy huff of air.

“I did not agree- I was outvoted.” His hand moved only to fold his arms. Trying to block her from further argument, and preparing for one simultaneously.

“I'm glad you were. I trust him. I can vouch for him. Let me personally assure you, Templar, that he will not bring any harm.” Folding her own arms in retaliation. “Cole is a spirit. Not a demon.”

“Shouldn't we worry about the implication, or consequences of other mages seeing that they can summon something that looks remotely helpful? Not to mention, offend every Templar that will be walking into our camp in precious few days.” Cullen argued.

“Do we fear of demons at every corner, Commander?” Her reply snide.

The words lit something in the Templar she did not know he possessed. He took the question as a grave insult, his face skewing in an anger she was sure she did not deserve. Arms unfolding to accent his words with a pointed figure.

“Yes, we do. I know what mages are capable of. I especially worry when a mage, who we find has recently been possessed by a demon slinks away. Unlike her usual demeanor. Even her few friends in the Inquisition have heard not even the scantest word of this encounter.” Cullen's voice grew in volume.

“I wasn't possessed! He tried, but failed!” The female matching his volume, “I'm sorry for not mentioning the demon being in my head, especially, especially after being surrounded by Templars. Templars willing to take any chance at detaining me, or worse.”

“It doesn't excuse never mentioning it!” Cullen answered back.

“Oh, excuse me again! Being herded into a viper's nest wasn't enough. Let alone-.” Guinevere stopped, no longer wishing to think or even argue about this. “It's my place to be silent as I wish.”

“Not when it comes to demons, mage.” That last word tumbled from his mouth without his will. An old habit.

“ _Mage_? Mage! You think we are all the same, some willing meat suits to become possessed by demons given the chance. You Templars, force us through a Harrowing. Force us to meet demons, and are surprised when we fail? When we've wasted our lives in circle. Of course what they offer is tempting.” Red hair waved and cackled, the shorter hairs standing on edge, “It is you Templars who are all the same. Just abusers who hold the leash, and relish in their power.”

“Hardly. Without us, mages would kill many.”

“Without you, mages wouldn't be forced to such extremes,” blue-green eyes lit, “Don't think I didn't hear rumors of Kirkwall, how the mages were driven to revolt. About you.”

“What do you think you know?” Cullen snarled.

“Enough. Now, if you would please leave me. Unless I am being detained, Templar.”

“I suppose my concerns can wait. We must focus on the Breach.” Cullen left the room in a huff, hand rubbing vigorously at the back of his neck.

 

\--- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- ---

 

“Deal. With. It.”

The mage almost turned around, after the argument she had just witnessed Cassandra end. It was enough walking within view of the Templar, though luckily enough he had kept his gaze away from her. Pretending not to notice the mage slinking by.

“It never ends, evidently.”

Guinevere raised a curious eyebrow at Cassandra. Not expecting a friendly conversation from the Seeker.

“You don't need to tell me that.” Guinevere played back.

“I just don't know who told them I'm the one to yell at.” Managing half a smile at the mage.

“Is it that bad?”

“The Templars need to learn they have other uses than hunting mages. It is not easy for them.” Cassandra shook her head softly, “It is your doing, after all. You created this alliance.”

“I had to think on my feet, and I did what I could.” Flinching a little in her answer, this was what Guinevere had come to expect from the Seeker.

“Oh,” Cassandra's voice and features softened, “I do sound like I am blaming you, don't I?”

“I don't disapprove. In fact, you did well. You made a decision when it needed to be made. And here we are. I wish I could say this was my doing.”

The mage didn't hide her shock, “You're flattering me!”

“I'm not!” Cassandra cried, “This always happens. Nobody ever takes my meaning...”

“Yous should see your face!” Guinevere teased the woman.

“I'm thinking less flattering things now.” Cassandra shook her head, “Let's hope the Breach has your sense of humor.” Beginning to leave the mage, wishing to walk away from this conversation.

“Cassandra, wait! Please.”

“What is it?”

“I would, could we leave for the Temple before the Templars arrive?”

Cassandra studied Guin for a long moment. “Is this something to do with the Commander?”

“Yes, but not just that. I just, I would feel more comfortable if I had time to prepare. Away from the noise, and Templars.” Offering up an unsure smile.

“If you wish to do this, you may go.” The Seeker motioned toward the temple.

“I would like you to accompany me, and Cole. If you don't mind?”

“Why?” The Seeker grew more skeptical as Guinevere danced around her.

Guin let out a long breathe, “I should probably tell you what happened with Envy, and you could see that I am not possessed, and-.”

“I shall go with you.”

Guinevere smiled widely. Embracing the Seeker.

 


	9. Chapter 9

The flute and harp played loudly into the cool night air. Drums thumping a lively beat, the mood of the people in Haven was bright. The Breach had been sealed, and for a while, all differences were forgotten. Mages and Templar talked together, without a word of fighting. Even Roderick kept silent while he didn't look terribly pleased, it was enough to buy his silence. Food and Alcohol flowed freely through the party, and the fire was built tall and wide. Even Cullen was relaxing, not completely immune from the gaiety of the partying around him.  
  
He hadn't gone with the Temple to witness the Breach being closed, but he had watched as the sky mended.  
  
Now the Mage could leave.  
  
He had fretted over the words to say to her, to apologize. They were both wrong, but he was more wrong. The Commander knew better, knew what it was like to suffer a demon sifting through his mind. Watching every nightmare come to life. And provoking her, treating her like a misbehaving mage. It was despicable. Why had he even felt the need to confront her? How else could that conversation have gone? Cole was unexpected, but it was no excuse for his behavior. To question her so.  
  
Cullen had watched the mage downed her first ale. Sputtering at the kick of alcohol. Varric laughed loudly, as Iron Bull slapped the Herald hard across her back. Next Guinevere was handed a much sweeter cup of wine, then followed by a pitcher of mead.  
  
It was not the right time to apologize, not with so many crowding her. Most of all Sera who stuck out a pink tongue whenever the Commander was caught looking in the mage's direction. Ultimately it was the elf that had pulled Guinevere away, stumbling out into the cold of the night air. The mage's loud giggles following her.  
  
An appropriate time later, Cullen found himself also leaving the Tavern. He passed unnoticed by Guinevere as she spun rapidly in circles with Sera, the two falling over each other. Walking the steps to oversee the party, making small conversation with Ser Barris as the party whirled around them. Cassandra came to speak briefly to Cullen, assuring him that the mage was not possessed. Speaking much more positively about the red-head than she had ever managed before.  
  
Leliana and Josie skirted around him, both with flagons of wine. He couldn't stand them too long, as the subject turned to parties and frilly dresses. Nothing that he could understand, or even wanted to hear about. Especially when the subject turned to a certain Trevelyan in a dress. Leaving them alone with a shake of his head.  
  
Guinevere stood quietly at the edges of the fire, an arm clasping her opposite elbow. Watching the people around the fire dance. Eyes flickering between the feet, arms, and combined patterns of what each couple was doing. Seemingly too nervous to ask. Her eyes took an unexpected turn as they glanced in his direction, making eye contact. Her gaze was quick to leave his, her attention focused on the black skinned Templar approaching.  
  
Barris offered out his arm, and the female chuckled. Blushing, but accepting his offer. They started dancing around the fire slowly. His voice and hands guided her in the movements. Tendrils of jealousy hitting his chest with every sweep of the Templars hands on her hips. Every shy look sent Barris's way. How her hair whipped behind her, a grin growing across her face. Laughing as she managed to trip less, and less over her feet. Laughing harder as Barris had to catch her from her falling.  
  
“She would dance with you if you would ask.”  
  
“Pick that up from her mind, did you demon?” Cullen asked, feeling his mood sour.  
  
“No. She told me.” The boy answered simply. “Kind of.”  
  
“Kind of?” But already the boy was gone, the mage coming fast on his position.  
  
“Trouble?” Guin slurred, only slightly.  
  
“No.” Cullen forced himself to leave the mage's side. Cassandra passing him to have a word with the Herald.  
  
Word arrived from yet another scout of activity moving through the pass. At the second messenger, the Commander began to worry. He clipped down the stairs, greeted by an unwelcomed sight.  
  
“Forces approaching! To arms!” Cullen screamed loudly, motions wordlessly directing the soldiers nearest to the gate. The town behind him worked into a panic.  
  
Cassandra and the Herald filed in behind Leliana and Josie., armed and ready.  
  
“Cullen?” Cassandra questioned.  
  
“One watchguard reporting. It's a massive force, the bulk over the mountain.” Gesturing toward the mountain, formulating and grinding over a plan.  
  
“Under what banner?” Josie asked.  
  
“None.” His attention moved to the door as it shuddered against a blast of fire. The Herald was the first to the door as a voice came from behind it.  
  
“If someone could open this, I'd appreciate it!”  
  
Cullen was close behind her, quick to sheathe his sword as the Tevinter man was winded, and down on one knee.  
  
“Ah, I'm here to warn you. Fashionably late, I'm afraid.” The man toppled almost as soon as he stood, Cullen grabbing the man before he fell again, “Mite exhausted. Don't mind me.”  
  
“My name is Dorian Pavus, and I bring grave news from Redcliffe- an army of rebel mages. Right behind me. They are under the command of the Venatori, in service to something called the 'Elder One.'”  
  
The man pointed up the mountain, to a woman near a tall figure. “That is Calpernia. She commands the Venatori. For that...the Elder One. They were already marching on Haven. I risked my life to get here first!”  
  
“Cullen! Give me a plan! Anything!” Fighting back the slur in her speech, steeling herself.  
  
“Haven is no fortress. If we are to withstand this monster, we must control the battle. Get out there and hit that force. Se everything you can!” Drawing his sword as he spoke, turning to look through the gates into Haven passed the gathered soldiers. Battle changed the usually quiet man.  
  
“Soldiers! Gather the villagers! Fortify and watch for advance forces!” Pacing before the gathered troops, pulling together suitable words, “Inquisition! With the Herald! For your lives! For all of us!” Thrusting his sword toward the advancing forces. The red-headed mage rushing to secure the trebuchets, as he retreated into Haven.  
  
Haven was panicked, and the villagers frightened. The Templar allies were quick the escort, and rally the villagers into the Chantry and through over paths out of the valley. In what felt like short minutes, the mountain behind him cracked loudly. Burying the advancing forces in  the snow, but as everything seemed to finally work in their favor. A loud screeching filled the valley, as a dragon destroyed one of the trebuchets. Praying to the Maker that the Herald had not been close.  
  
“Move it! Move it!” Urging on the Herald and her party through the gate as the dragon passed overhead. “We need everyone back to the Chantry. It's the only building that might hold against... that beast! At this point...just make them work for it.”  
  
The commander pushed forward, escorting as many as he could to the Chantry. He had lost the position of the Herald but had no time to look for her. It was likely that they were all doomed, either way. The Maker could, at least, spare him the embarrassment of a hasty apology. Instead, she busied himself with arranging the survivors in the Chantry.  
  
At the sound of the Herald's name Cullen found himself running for her, “Herald! Our position is not good. That dragon stole back anytime you might have earned us. There has been no communication. No demands. Only advance after advance.”  
  
“There no bargaining with the mages, either. This Elder One takes what it wants.” Dorian added while he worried over Roderick. “From what I gathered in Redcliffe, it marched all of this way to take your Herald.”  
  
“If it will save these people. He can have me.” Guinevere muttered, pivoting on her heels. Looking to the door as her head shook.  
  
“And such a promising start with the landslide. If only trebuchets remained an option.” Dorian added, attempting to joke.  
  
The Herald froze, knowing what the Commander was about to say. He didn't wish, to say it, but he had to. “They are if we turn the last of them to the mountains above us.”  
  
“We're overrun. To hit the enemy, we'd bury Haven,” said the mage.  
  
“This is not survivable now. The only choice left is how spitefully we end this.”  
  
“Well, that's not acceptable. I didn't race here only to have you drop rocks on my head.” Dorian argued, challenging Cullen directly. As the Herald still kept her back to the group.  
  
“Should we submit? Let him kill us?” Cullen questioned the man.  
  
“Dying is typically a last resort. Not first! For a Templar, you think like a blood mage!”  
  
“There is a path.” Roderick interrupted.  
  
At the possibility, Cullen felt hope simmering beneath the surface. The Herald turned to better listen to Roderick. The faintest of quivering visible on the shaking of her lips.  
  
“If that thing is here for me. I'll make him fight for it.” Guinevere had already decided minutes ago, but the revelation did not come any easier.  
  
“And when the mountain falls? What about you?” Cullen knew the answer.  
  
Guinevere proffered a soft smile and turned from him once again.  
  
“Perhaps you can surprise the Elder one.” Dorian chimed in.  
  
“Get them out of here Cullen, everyone.” Her voice soft, barely above a whisper.  
  
“But Herald- you can't-”  
  
“Don't take this the wrong way, Templar. I still do not like you.”


	10. Chapter 10

“There! It's her!”  
  
A solitary voice carried over the howling winds. Breaking the maddening monotony that had been screeching, freezing, biting movement of the blizzard ripping through the mountain peaks.   As her knees had done on several previous occasions, they faltered sinking the lower half of her body into the snow.   
  
“Thank the Maker!” Issued a feminine voice.  
  
“Del? Delilah?” The mage croaked.  
  
Weakly her hand grasped outwards, the balance of her body toppled forward planting herself firmly into the snow. Relief from the grave of snow was quick, but only to be met by another freezing pain. Cold metal froze against her skin in a yelp of pain, almost dislodging herself from the arms carrying her.   
  
“Kellam, the metal it's too cold.”  
  
“Maker's Breath, is her collarbone meant to look like that?”  
  
“Put me down! It hurts!” The mage whined.   
  
“Well, if you wore an appropriate amount of clothing you would not-”  
  
“Cullen, wait, I've heard of this madness when someone has been out in the cold too long.”  
  
“Is it too late?”   
  
Delilah and Kell were ignoring her pleas. She didn't appreciate feeling left out like this. It only spurred her protests further as they fell silent. Honey eyes looked her forlornly, unable to adjust his coats so that the metal would not sit against her skin. The journey to the camp was shortly over; the mage quickly entrusted into the care of healers.    
  
A solitary scream filled the valley.  
  
\---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---  
  
Slowly Guinevere forced her body to move from the cot. This action earned a reprimand from Mother Giselle, who attended her for the moment.  
  
“They've been at it for hours,” Guinevere muttered groggily. In the few days, Guinevere had spent reeling in and out of awareness, the constant sound of arguing had accompanied her throbbing head. She had been well enough patched up, with her clavicle healing properly after the bone was reset. Any other pains and muscle tears were mended with the use of magic and potion, but her head injuries were beyond any known means of healing. It would take time.  
  
Guinevere had been very fortunate in her injuries. Especially considering how she had thrown away each warm item of clothing she had on her person. Leaving her to fend some, if not all of the blizzard in a too large tunic (one she had meant to return days ago) and leather pants. Her extremities, if still not feeling a little stiff were fine.  
  
“They have that luxury, thanks to you. The enemy could not follow, and with time to doubt, we turn to blame,” The Revered Mother counseled, “Infighting may threaten as much as this Corphyeus.”  
  
“The only thing yelling gets us is a headache. Another headache.”  
  
The woman betrayed a smile, pleased to see the Herald in her usual humor. “They know. But our situation- your situation- is complicated. Our leaders struggle because of what we survivors witnessed. We saw our defender stand,... and then fall. And now, we have seen her return.”  
  
With a gentle shaking of her head, Guinevere moved gingerly to an upright position. Avoiding unnecessary strain on her aching collar.  
  
“The more the enemy is beyond us, the more miraculous your actions appear. And the more our trails seem ordained. That is hard to accept, no? What “we” have been called to endure? What “we” perhaps, must come to believe?”  
  
Guinevere's forehead creased, feeling slighted by the mention of faith. Her lack of beliefs was well known. This entire business of Herald was ridiculous to her, if somewhat not personally offensive. “I escaped the avalanche. Barely, perhaps, but I did not die.” Attempting to maneuver out of a lecture about faith.   
  
  
“Of course,” but the lecture was destined to fall on her ears, “And the dead cannot return from across the Veil. But people know what they saw.  Or, perhaps, what they needed to see. The Maker works both in the moment and in how it is remembered. Can we truly know the heavens are not with us?”  
  
“Whatever the rest of you say, I felt no divine aid at the Conclave or Haven.” The mage had enough of this talk, painfully forcing herself at her feet, “The struggle ahead seems mine alone.”  
  
With unsteady steps, she took in the camp. Leliana and Josephine sat by another in unnatural silence. Cullen kept himself faced away from the rest of the camp, internally debating with himself of his next action. Cassandra stood over the map, looking at it with much disdain. They were lost...terribly so. Guin didn't know where to start, or even to know what the next action was.   
  
“ _Shadows fall, and hope has fled_.” Giselle began to sing, the voice far more pleasant than the mage would have ever guessed.  
  
The mother continued in the hymn. Surprisingly enough, it seemed to rally the interest of her advisers. Leliana joined in on the song, her voice every ounce as pleasant as the mage would dream it.  But as the song swelled among the camp, it soon became awkward. How everybody knew the words was beyond her. As Cullen opened his mouth to join in, her thoughts were simple-  _He knows the song too?_ Finding her back in contact with the pole of the tent, running any further, would look extremely bad.  
  
 _Bare your ass and raise it high._  
 _Prepare your butt._   
  
Thankfully, for all attending, she kept this version of the song to herself.   
  
_The Cum will come._   
  
It was never in the requirements for dirty versions of hymns to be entirely witty.   
  
But as the hymn progressed, and the members of the Inquisition drew around her, she felt further cornered. Gripping her fists, in turn, feeling even this simple friction causing jolts of electricity to branch up her arm. As the mass began to move to their knees, or bow she found reprieve in Solas eyeing the crowd with contempt.   
  
“Faith may have yet to find you. But it has already found them.” Speaking as the song ended.  
  
Thankfully, Solas approached. Asking for her audience, one she was more than willing to give.  
  
\---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---  
  
The Herald put a lot of trust in the words Solas spoke to her. Of some fortress in the mountains, in which they could inhabit. Guinevere, while cautious, didn't think he would deceive her in so great of a manner. Especially when his livelihood depended on getting to a safer place, with more supplies and out of the cold.  
  
 Travel was terribly slow, but Guin was secretly happy for it. While most of the pain had faded, her mind had not fully recovered.  
  
More often than she liked, she found herself staring off into nothingness. Speaking felt heavy, and more difficult. The mage had to hide lots of inelegance from the others, afraid to make them worry. But unlike she would be so proud to think, her companions had noticed. A guard is forming around her in the most natural manner at all times.  
  
Iron Bull complained loudly about the cold, “You know what I want most? A warm bosom.”  
  
“Are there any bosoms around here large enough for your head?” Varric asked mirthfully.  
  
“Any bosom is a nice, and warm bosom. I don't discriminate.” The Qunari said with a wink, aimed at the mage, betrayed by a blush.  
  
“I could go for a drink.”   
  
“I second that motion of a drink,” Blackwall piped in.   
  
“Drinking is all fun, but what about sex. Not a better way to make your insides warm,” Bull raised an eyebrow, continuing to tease the female, “Warmth, and refreshing...beverages...in one!”  
  
Guinevere chocked.  
  
“What is your opinion, Freckles?”  
  
“I would go with warmth.”  
  
“Oh, come on boss! Be more specific! Warmth, in what way.”  
  
Guinevere thought for a long moment, her blush growing with every thought, “You know, bodies pressed flush against one another.”  
  
“So innocent, Freckles.” Varric remarked. “Sounds a lot like those smutty books.”  
  
“So what, if it is just comforting?” Guin countered.   
  
“You can't say you haven't just done it for fun?” Blackwall half asked, half stated.  
  
“Yeah, sure.” Came her simple reply, looking at her feet.  
  
“Or at all?” The Bull questioned.  
  
“Well, I!”  
  
The Iron Bull rejoiced in his correct observation with a hearty laugh.  
  
“Has the Herald at least kissed someone?” Varric asked, drawing silence from the group.  
  
“Yes,” the red-head answered shortly.  
  
“I don't believe you! Look she's red!”  
  
“I'd believe me!”  
  
“Prove it, Freckles.”  
  
“Just point, and it shall be done!” Guinevere was hopping that her show of bravado would end the debate. Usually, arguments could be ended that easily.  
  
In unison, a target was chosen: “Curly.”  
  
With a huff and a question of why this was necessary Guinevere was consigned to her fate. Being allowed a few minutes without her guard ever present, she stalked toward the Commander. Unfortunately, he was busy speaking with the other advisers. Upon Cassandra seeing the Herald, she was beckoned forward. The foursome conspired, and Guin was not sure she wanted to know the subject matter.   
  
With another animated huff, the female looked over her shoulder. Varric urged her to continue with a flick of his head. This certainly was not part of the deal, doing such a thing with an audience around. The advisers only grew concerned as the Herald did not approach. The group moved closer to intercepting the mage as they continued their march.  
  
“Herald?” Cassandra questioned first.  
  
Guinevere whirled on her heel, and too quickly. Forced to grapevine her steps to avoid falling to the ground, that would only make this situation worse. Which it was, as a concerned Templar clipped forward to grab the teetering female. His gloved hands folding gently around her waist.   
  
“Herald.” Cullen positively _cooed_. Much to Guinevere's active imagination.  
  
“Ahhh, thank you,” Guinevere peered up at the man, blinking slowly. Drawing out further confusion from the man's features, “Ser.”  
  
Slowly, and ever so carefully she rose to the balls of her feet. An undistinguished female gasped. Her mouth is crashing toward the frozen Commander's lips. In the last second, her lips pressed against his cheek. Both grew red, the color of redness between them was a toss-up for the clear winner.   
  
Pivoting her heel sharply, she escaped his grasp. Another two steps later she was completely free of the man rooted in his spot.   
  
“Oh, my!” Cassandra gasped.  
  
Guinevere was too embarrassed to speak of the situation further, allowing Varric to tease her; with no backlash.  
  
The mage was glad not to have wasted her first kiss.  
  
\---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---  
  
The journey to this 'mysterious' Skyhold took a few more days of slow travel. Surprised, but pleased to have such a completed fortress completely available to them. It was located on top of springs, making their new home warm. While it caused her an allergic reaction, the mage appreciated the green of the grounds. Appreciating, even more, the chance to rest, finally.   
  
After a few days of rest and a few more days of scrambling, there was finally time to relax and scour the grounds of the keep.   
  
Guinevere searched the grounds, happening upon the advisers again plotting. Rather than speak with them all, Cassandra motioned for the mage to walk with her, alone.  Stiffening her shoulders, Guinevere was ready to expect the worst. It was easy to notice the honeyed words and sideways glances she had found at alarming regularity since reaching Skyhold.   
  
“They arrive daily from each settlement in the region. Skyhold is becoming a pilgrimage.” Leading Guinevere up the steps, toward the entrance of the Fortress. “If word has reached these people, it will have reached the Elder One. We have the walls and the numbers to put up a fight here, but this threat is far beyond the war we anticipated. But now we know what allowed you to stand against Corphyeus, what drew him to you.”  
  
Cassandra paused at the land, giving Guinevere the chance to speak, “This isn't more about being divinely touched, is it?” If it weren't for the thickening lump in her throat the Herald would have snickered at such an entrada.   
  
“I won't ask you to believe. Whether it's true or not, that's not why your here now.”  
  
Guinevere grew suspicious as Cassandra moved to the next set of stairs.  
  
“Your decisions let us heal the sky. Your determination brought us out of Haven. You are that creature's rival because of what you did. And we know it. All of us.”  
  
Guinevere glanced at her curiously, noticing a purple-ish hood crossed her vision. Leliana holding in her hands a bulky and ornate sword.   
  
“The Inquisition requires a leader: The one who already has been leading it.”  
  
In the short time, it had taken to climb the steps; a crowd had gathered. Guinevere viewed them with suspicion, the words tumbling out of her mouth were not pleasant.  
  
“Andraste's bristled cunt hairs-”


	11. Chapter 11

“Impressive view. Reminds me of my home in Kirkwall. I had a balcony that overlooked the whole city.” The blonde drew in a deep breath, “I loved it at first. But after a while, all I could see were the people out there depending on me.”  
  
“You're lucky it was just a single city. I've got half of Thedas,” keeping her words light.  
  
“You're doing everything you can to protect them.”  
  
“Does it ever get any easier?”  
  
“I'll let you know,” the blonde haired warrior replied with a chuckle. “I don't envy you, Inquisitor. But I may be able to help you.”  
  
“Varric said you killed Corypheus before.”  
  
So talked Guinevere, and Satine Hawke about the monster. She learned just enough to know that Gray Wardens were involved, possibly under control of the creature, and that he would not die easily. Her travels would also soon lead her to Crestwood, to meet this Stroud fellow. They talked for nearly half an hour. Guinevere still not knowing enough. But throwing herself at Hawke like an angry cat wasn't going to solve any problems, or make any friends. It was in all likelihood she would see much more of the Champion of Kirkwall.  
  
Besides, a much more pressing issue of growing noise was beginning to divert her attention. While not being aware of the entire story, she knew Cassandra would not be happy with this latest development. From the sounds issuing from the Blacksmith, a fight needed to be broken up in short order. Before the Inquisition had another window to replace, along with all the scaffolding and repairs that needed to be done.  
  
A long argument, and headache later Guinevere finally found herself walking out of the smithy. To continue with her goal of fresh air (after several days being spent in the Grand-hall turned infirmary), the long way around would take her to the kitchen. The Inquisitor had lustily eyed a cart laden with apples rolling in with the latest shipment. At least a dozen of them needed to be procured.  
  
Walking through the yards provided little of entertainment value. Sera ran away giggling, Vivienne scolding a servant. All was normal, even as she moved down the steps. Watching Cullen issue out orders to his troops, giving one a particular glare as he didn't act when issued a command. His eyes raised to meet her, nodding in her direction. Guinevere took this as an invite.  
  
“We set up as best we could at Haven,” his usual tick presented- as his hand massaged the base of his neck, “but could never prepare for an arch-demon, or whatever it was. With some warning, we might have-”  
  
The mage interrupted him, “We were all shaken by what happened.”  
  
“If Corypheus tries to strike again, we might not be able to withdraw, I wouldn't want to. We must be ready. Work on Skyhold is underway. Guard rotations established, We should have everything on course within the week. We will not run from here, Inquisitor.”  
  
It was a far better title than Herald, at any rate, but Guin had a harder question to ask, “How many were lost?”  
  
“Most of our people made it to Skyhold. It could have been worse,” the conversation taking a surprising hopeful course, “morale was low. But it has improved greatly since you accepted the role of Inquisitor.”  
  
“Everyone has so much faith in my leadership,” the words guarded with appropriate humor, “I hope I am ready.”  
  
“You won't have to carry the Inquisition alone. Although, it must feel like it. We needed a leader, you have proven yourself.”  
  
The mage offered a small smile that was returned by the Templar. “Thank you, Cullen.”  
  
The Commander was content in the course of the conversation, slowly returning to the papers at his makeshift base of operations. Guinevere was not done.  
  
“Our escape from Haven- it was close. I'm relieved that you, THAT so many made it out.” Had that been an intentional slip of words or one that was a mistake? She still felt guilty over the way she had left things in Haven. After that argument, that honestly still stung.  
  
“As am I,” tone meek. Amber eyes directing away from her face and at the ground. It was the only cue the mage needed to know that the conversation was over.  
  
After the kitchen, her next destination would be the bar. Yes, that was settled! Pivoting on her heel she took the first step away, assuming the man would like to be left to his awkwardness and work. Fingertips interrupted the second step, brushing her elbow.  
  
“You stayed behind, you could have-,” the man's head shook, “I will not allow the events at Haven to happen again. You have my word.”  
  
“It wasn't your fault, Cullen,” the mage stammered, “Corypheus will go where I- this anchor goes.”  
  
“You cannot think it is your fault I-”  
  
“Commander! That report on the armory-” The scout was too late to realize his intrusion.  
  
The Commander was also too late in securing Guinevere's full attention, waving away the man as she escaped toward the kitchens.  
  
\--- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- ---  
  
Guinevere had found herself issues into the Great Hall for dinner, at largely the insistence of Cassandra. The Seeker escorted the Inquisitor to the end of a table, urging her to sit at the head of the table. Cassandra sat on her right, Leliana on the left. Josie sat next to Leliana, and the seat open next to Cassandra remained open.  
  
Dinner was a simple meal of chicken, greens, and rolls. The dinner bell started with the empty seat remaining.  
  
Leliana could not wait for Guinevere to begin eating before speaking, “Oh, Inquisitor, we must find you more suitable clothes!”  
  
Guinevere looked down at the tunic she wore, the white hem of the collar had more than a few stains of red along the border. Leather pants were worn and felt thin. Her boots were ripping at the seam; they did not have much more days in them. The mage gulped, turning a little red. She was lucky to have what she wore at the moment as her sole possessions, granted the shirt had been won from Cullen.  
  
“Something tailored! Do you not think some browns and oranges to match her tattoos would not look splendid!” Josie added.  
  
Cassandra made a disgusted noise.  
  
“And some pretty shoes!”  
  
“Also, I know of some great Antivan hair products for your beautiful hair!”  
  
Understanding they meant the best, Guinevere still felt ashamed. Running from the Circle left her with no money, it was a tight squeeze for those months before the Conclave. Now, the Inquisition had proven to be profitable but where to spend the money, or how was difficult.  
  
“What do you think, Guinevere?”  
  
“I can just wear whatever is available.”  
  
“Nonsense! Your clothing must resemble your rank!” Vivienne announced from somewhere further down the table.  
  
Leliana and Josie agreed.  
  
“I wouldn't know where to start.”  
  
Josie seemed shocked, “Have you never had a tailor?”  
  
Guinevere shook her head, “I've never left the circle.”  
  
“Oh! We must take you out!” Leliana's gaze was filled with pity. Guinevere couldn't look in the Spymaster's direction for long.  
  
“Yes, we should all go to Val Royeaux together!” Josie sighed dreamily, “have a girl's day out!”  
  
“Those bosoms are surely not meant to be hidden, my dear!” Vivienne added, without a hint of humor. The thought causing Guinevere to blush even deeper. Sorely tempted to take a questioning peak at her own breasts, to the question the truth of that statement.  
  
“Should I turn around, so you ladies may continue your conversation?” The tenor of Cullen's voice filled with mirth and half discomfort.  
  
“No, Cullen. Join us, all such talk is over,” Cassandra motioned to the empty seat beside her.  
  
“Excuse me for being late.”  
  
Finally Guinevere had time to pick at the food on her plate, letting the other females keep the conversation going. She was quite busy avoiding the amber eyes of a certain Commander. He was trying to make himself not look like a fool. They had all gathered Guinevere here in an attempt to cheer up the mage. To know her better, now that she was to act as the Inquisitor.  
  
Josie and Leliana kept up most of the conversation, drawing Guinevere in with little quips. Even Cullen began to speak.  
  
“It's the Orlesian national past-time!”  
  
“Mock the game all you like Commander!” Leliana started.  
  
Guinevere grinned into her food, laughing at the two very different people.  
  
“When is this ball?”  
  
“A few months away yet, nothing to stress over yet.”  
  
“Oh,” Guinevere answered to Josephine simply.  
  
“Oh! Dresses would be a perfect addition to a girl's day out!”  
  
“I thought this ball was strictly formal wear?” Cassandra questioned, mortified with the idea of being stuck in a dress.  
  
“Oh, Cassandra, some of us can dress up. It would be lovely to see the Inquisitor in a dress, would it not Cullen?” Josie cooed.  
  
Guinevere dropped the piece of chicken from her mouth, stifling a cough.  
  
Cullen controlled his shade to a light pink, his fork clattering against a plate noisily. “The Her-, Inqu-, Guinevere would look lovely in whatever she chooses.”  
  
The mage proffered a soft smile, “I've always wanted to wear a formal gown.”  
  
Josie questioned the Inquisitor extensively, Leliana solely in the discussion for the shoes. Vivienne even put in a few more remarks regarding the outfit. Guinevere mostly nodded, unsure of the unique vocabulary associated with the dresses. Eventually, the conversation turned to her plans.  
  
“I think it will be feasible to leave for Crestwood tomorrow, I don't want to keep Hawke waiting. She left shortly after our conversation.” Guinevere avoided looking at Cassandra. Who was stabbing the chicken with her knife like it has insulted her mother.  
  
“I will double check everything for your departure,” Leliana offered.  
  
Dinner was pulled, and a small cake offered as a dessert. The Inquisitor was full and excused herself from the table- after offering the dessert to anyone that wanted it.  
  
“Inquisitor, if I could request a meeting with you...before you retire tonight,” Cullen asked coolly, ignoring the eyes of the females suddenly pinned on him. How they grinned, each taking the question as more than it ought to mean. Only Cassandra did not waver; her attention focused on Guinevere's free cake.  
  
“Uh, yes. Half an hour fine?”  
  
“Perfect, I'll be in the tower nearest the library.”  
  
The mage was away with a nod.  
  
\--- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- ---  
  
The half hour went quickly, but slowly. Guinevere chided herself for the amount of nervousness she was feeling about meeting the man, alone. She paced, and picked at her appearance. Pulling in a deep, and comforting breath as she pulled open the door to Cullen's new quarters. The man was bent over his desks, papers still yet messily strewed across the desk.  
  
“As leader of the Inquisition, you,” Cullen sighed deeply much paler than he had appeared at dinner, “there's something I must tell you.”  
  
Guinevere was sent into immediate worry, frowning slowly. “Whatever is it, I am willing to listen.”  
  
“Right, thank you,” response curt, “Lyruim grants Templarr our abilities, but it controls us as well. Those cut off suffer- some go mad, others die.”  
  
Guinevere nodded, aware of this. Kell had tried, but it had not worked well for him. Within the first week, he had turned violent. Her back shivering from the memory of that pain, the bruises had lasted a week.  
  
“We have secured a reliable source of Lyrium for the Templars here. But I... I no longer take it.”  
  
“You stopped?” half disbelieving his words.  
  
“When I joined the Inquisition. It's been months now,” The Commander admitted quietly. Head kept low, eyes far away from her gaze.  
  
“Cullen, if this can kill you..,” only offering these words out of concern.  
  
“It hasn't yet,” some hope sprinkled in his words, “after what happened in Kirkwall. I couldn't... I will not be bound to the order-or that life- any longer. Whatever the suffering, I accept it.”  
  
Cullen raised from the desk, now that his confession was over he could stand with pride again. “But I would not put the Inquisition at risk. I have asked Cassandra to...watch me. If my ability to lead is compromised, I will be relieved from duty.”  
  
“Are you in pain?”  
  
“I can endure it,” Cullen stated.  
  
“Thank you for telling me. I respect what you're doing.”  
  
“Thank you, Inquisitor. The Inquisition's army must always take priority. Should anything happen... I will defer to Cassandra's judgment.”  
  
“If you ever need anything, let me know. I think it is a brave thing you are doing-,” Guinevere stopped, not wanting to share her story of woe, “but I will take your leave.”


	12. Chapter 12

  
  
   _Dearest Josephine, Leliana, and Cullen._  
  
 _I have met with Stroud. The Wardens in Orlais are all hearing the Calling. Stroud assumes that it has something to do with Corypheus. Of course. The Grey Wardens have turned to blood magic to end this Calling, in turn hunting down Stroud as he refused to participate in this ritual. The Wardens are gathering in the Western Approach. I'll return shortly to Skyhold, but wish to leave within the next day to the Western Approach. If that could be arranged for me, I would be thankful._  
  
 _-Guinevere Trevelyan._  
  
\---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---  
  
  
“Should we be shopping, if we are preparing for war?” Cassandra questioned, looking around the shop with some disdain. The fabrics were far too pink for her liking.   
  
“Gathering the troops, and supplies necessary takes some time, Cassandra, besides look at the state of the Inquisitor's boots!”  
  
Singling out Guinevere as she attempted to kick the sole of her boot back into place discreetly. Vivienne tutted softly, sampling a ribbon of fabric between her fingers.   
  
“Could I just be Guinevere, not the Inquisitor here?”  
  
“But, my dear-.”  
  
“Just for today please.” Earning herself an eye roll from Vivienne.  
  
“Alright Guinevere, what color do you like?” Leliana played into Guinevere's game.   
  
“White.”  
  
The shop-hand jotted down the note.  
  
“And?” Josie urged.  
  
“Orange, blues. I can wear whatever matches.” Shrinking under the scrutinizing gaze of the females. It was a little difficult to do this with complete seriousness. Her eyes and hands often wandered, unsure of what to pick or what would even make her look presentable. There were far too many choices for her it was intimidating.   
  
“If you see something you like, please feel free to grab it. We have dressing rooms to your right.” The clerk motioning toward dividers tucked into the far corner of the shop.   
  
Without needing to be further prodded, Guinevere picked up a light blue tunic and a pair of soft fabric pants in a medium gray color. With an approving look from the Spymaster, she headed for the changing area. The clothes were soft and felt heavenly compared to the rough fibers she was used to. The little buttons on the tunic she found adorable, and to her delight did unbutton. To avoid prudishness, the top three were left undone. Her sandy boots left behind the divider.   
  
Vivienne surprised the red-head by awaiting her just behind the divider. With another tut, and soft sigh her hands made quick work of the buttons. Exposing the full half circle of her breasts.  
  
“We will need to fit you with new underclothes; the support makes the shape!”  
  
Vivienne paraded the Inquisitor before the group.  
  
“Very nice, you were right about her bosoms!”  
  
“Just imagine the looks they will draw!”  
  
“How about the cold!” Guinevere cried in jest, enjoying the attention.  
  
“Or the reaction of a certain Commander!”  
  
Guinevere huffed, poking out a tongue childishly at the teasing Leliana.  
  
“It will be a shame that makeup will cover that blush. It is quite adorable.” Josie cooed.  
  
The teasing continued through the rest of the visit in the clothing shop. A few things packaged, and others would take time to be made.  As they were to be tailored to Guinevere's form. The next stop was a shoe shop, Guinevere wearing the first outfit out she had tried on in the shop.  
  
The cobbler was much the same as the clothing shop, with some ready to go and others to be ordered. While the leg of her pants was tight enough, he demanded that the client hike up the pant leg to get a better measurement. It was a simple action, one that she did not guess would draw a small gasp from Josephine.  
  
“Do you not shave?”  
  
Guinevere studied the light hairs on her legs, not finding much wrong with them. “No?”  
  
“Anything?”  
  
“Forgive me, darling; I have forgotten the circle did not allow such activities. But do not fret, I shall be your instructor. We must remember to add creams to our list.” Vivienne tittered.  
  
“Creams?”  
  
Guinevere had much to learn, which she did. The most expensive, yet the smallest things acquired that day had been from that parlor. Perfumes, lotions, hair salves, and creams for her body hairs. Out of pity for a tired Guinevere, the group made a stop at a small cafe. Eating dainty treats, and sipping fancy teas. To avoid further insulting Cassandra with these feminine activities, Guinevere kept silent about how much she enjoyed these activities. Slipping off to order a surprise order of chocolates and cookies for the rest of her companions. Some as a gift for the friends who had graciously taken her on this trip. Along with a wine Dorian had just been craving. She owed him that much, after forcing his through the sands of the Western Approach.  
  
But anything specifically for Cullen was a challenge.   
  
Along a general shop, Leliana stopped at a shop window. Studying a chess set displayed in the front window.  
  
“What are you looking at?”  
  
“I was wondering if Cullen would be interested in a Chess set.”  
  
“Does he play?”  
  
“I assume; he lamented losing his set back at Haven.”  
  
“Then let me get it for him!”  
  
“So generous, Guin.”  
  
Guinevere blushed softly, “I have gifts for everyone else: I could not leave out our esteemed Commander.”  
  
“Esteemed?  I thought we often fought with the Commander if rumor is to be believed.”  
  
The mage skewed her face, “Only when the man is a block-headed Templar.”  
  
“He was upset after you left to face that arch-demon.”  
  
“You are a good Spymaster.” Leaving Leliana to walk bravely into the shop, purchasing the hefty set. Deciding to have the heavy set delivered to their room in Val Royeaux.  
  
The next shop had an arrangement of different colored powders, sticks, and lotions. The attendant went to work dressing up the female in makeup. Going with a conservative look. Guin finding that she liked how it looked and hid her blush easily enough. But during this calm moment, her stomach started turning, growing uneasy about the chess set. Was it too much?   
  
She made Leliana promise to give the gift to Cullen.  
  
\---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---  
  
The first night she had returned to Skyhold had Guinevere immediately throwing herself at her bed, located in the quarters somewhat above the library. Barely noticing the changes to the keep, other than it was much cleaner. A few weeks had made a world of difference. But it would have to be better explored in the morning, and after a bath.   
  
The next morning the Inquisitor took her time in getting ready, taking a long bath and practicing with the small blade Vivienne had instructed her to buy.  With another successful day and minimal cuts, Guinevere was ready to hand out her small gifts. Lelianna, as promised, delivered the chess set to Cullen. Lavishing detail on Guinevere about the state of his surprise. The Commander was not expecting to receive such an expensive gift.  
  
But her goal was Dorian, with the bottle of wine in hand. A tranquil in the library alerting her that the Tevinter was last headed to the gardens challenged to a game. The next destination set, and she cruised for the garden.  
  
Guinevere caught the man in the gazebo, chancing upon his game with Cullen.   
  
“Gloat all you like. I have this one.” Cullen declared proudly, pressing his hands together.  
  
“Are you sassing me, Commander? I didn't know you had it in you.”  
  
“Why do I even-,” his gaze turned startling as Guinevere appeared. Rising from his seat.  
  
Guinevere raised a newly pluck eyebrow, grinning softly at the man with his mouth wide open.  
  
“Leaving, are you? Does this mean I win?” Taking advantage of the displaced Commander.  
  
“You're taking this rather seriously.” Motioning for the Commander to sit.  
  
“He is, isn't he?” Dorian turned from Guinevere, focusing back on the board, “You need to come to terms with my inevitable victory. You'll feel much better.” Successfully pulling the Templar back into the game.   
  
“Really?” Cullen said with a smirk, “Because I just won. And I feel fine.” Cullen cackled during his speech, Guinevere chuckling in the completely changed attitude of this man.   
  
“Don't get smug. There will be no living with you.” The Tevinter man retorted, leaving the table with what pride he had left. Stopping short, looking over the Inquisitor from head to toe, “I like the new look, it suits you.”  
  
“I should return to my duties as well...unless you would care for a game?” The Templar asked not ready to be finished with the relaxing activity.   
  
“Prepare the board, Commander,” spoken bravely for someone with little experience with the game.  
  
“As a child, I played this with my sister. She would get this stuck-up grin whenever she won-,” the man was grinning,” which was all the time. My brother and I practiced together for weeks. The look on her face the day I finally won... between serving with the Templars and the Inquisition, I haven't seen them in years. I wonder if she still plays.”  
  
Guinevere settled in her chair, placing the bottle of wine underneath the table. “You have siblings?”  
  
“Two sisters and a brother.”  
  
“Where are they now?”  
  
“They moved to South Reach after the Blight. I do not write to them as often as I should.”  
  
“That's a shame, Commander.” Moving her first piece was abandon.  
  
“Ah, it's my turn.” Guiding the subject away.  
  
“You should keep in practice for when you see your sister again.” Three more moves had passed, and Guinevere had already lost a piece. She wouldn't even pretend to be any good at this game. Chiefly, lacking the patience to play with that much strategy.  
  
“Do you have siblings?”  
  
“Yes, three older brothers.”  
  
“Do you speak often?”  
  
Guinevere smiled softly, “No, I do not. My brothers are all Templars, something of a family profession. It wouldn't look good for them to be close to their mage sister.”  
  
“Ah,” swallowing in the potential awkwardness of this conversation. It wasn't the best line of conversation between the two.  
  
“I don't mind talking about it. Please, feel free to pry.”  
  
“Anything?”  
  
“Oh, please challenge me, Commander.”  
  
The tips of his ears darkened, “Who are Delilah, and this Kellam?”  
  
Guinevere looked at him curiously, she had certainly never mentioned Delilah. "Friends from my life in the Circle. Delilah is about my age, my closest friend for years. Kellam was a Templar who helped us out of the Circle...he was.”  
  
“Someone special?” Cullen prodded.  
  
“Not quite, but going. I suppose,” Guinevere gulped, “Did you leave anyone behind in Kirkwall?”  
  
“No, I fear I made few friends there, and my family's in Ferelden.”  
  
“No one special caught your interest?”  
  
“Not in Kirkwall.”  
  
“You must tell!” forgetting to hide any of her enthusiasm.  
  
Cullen chuckled, “Now, that is not fair! You get a question, and I get one. You already asked two.”  
  
“Fine, ask your questions,” huffing softly.  
  
“What happened to Delilah?”  
  
“I never saw her after the Conclave. She wasn't with me at the time, but you saw how the grounds were destroyed.”  
  
“I'm sorry-.”  
  
“No, do not worry. Proceed.”  
  
“If I may, what happened in Therinfall?” Hesitating to place his piece.  
  
“I'm glad to know I can trust Cassandra to keep my secrets, but very well.” Deciding first to make her next move, rehearsing her words as she sucked on her lip. “The Envy demon was in my head. It showed me what it could turn the Inquisition into. Tried to frighten me into submission. You and others were there. It tried to control me, I'm sorry, I don't want to ruin this game with such dour conversation.”  
  
“No, having a demon in your mind is horrible,” Cullen tried to offer a supporting smile, “This may have been the longest we have gone without discussing the Inquisition- or related matters. To be honest, I appreciate the distraction.”  
  
“We should spend more time together.”  
  
“I would like that.”  
  
The mage grinned, but only for a short moment. She was unsure if Cullen would respond well to such a foolish sentiment, particularity because of how busy he was. Of how busy they were. “Me, too.”  
  
“You said that,” words soft, and pleasant.  
  
At first, her look was merely curious but softened as the meaning became more apparent. Eyes locking, neither of them daring to look away. Guinevere's heart fluttered. Cullen's gaze retreated to the board.  
  
“We should...finish our game. Right? My turn?” Cullen carefully selecting the next move. Guinevere was not far from defeat.  
  
With her next piece slid across the board, Guinevere's king trapped.  
  
“And this one's mine.” His tone nearly not as proud, or smug as the one he had used on Dorian.   
  
“It seems luck favored you today.” Throwing her arms down in a clearly fake show of unhappiness.  
  
“So it has,” Cullen spoke between his fingers, daring to look at the Inquisitor again.  
  
“Oh?”  
  
The Commander was not expecting a return question. So he searched for something to end his torment.    
  
“Is that green?”  
  
“Is what green?” Touching her face out of instinct, “Oh! Does it look okay?”  
  
“It reminds me of a berry I ate as a boy ...I threw up,” Cullen was flinching as he talked, “I was sick for a week.”  
  
“Oh.” Guinevere bristled, folding her arms tightly.  
  
“That red in your fur reminds me of  dried blood, is it?” Guinevere knew better.  
  
“That's! I!” Cullen sputtered.  
  
Guinevere's words were somewhere between a snarl and hurt, “sometimes, your lack of tact is appalling!”  Apparently, his opinions had suddenly decided to matter to her. Judging from the reaction that bubbled from her gut.  
  
“And you're overly sensitive!” pulling in a steadying breath, “I hadn't meant-”  
  
Cullen found himself not interrupted but ignored as Guinevere bee-lined out of the garden. Wine bottle in hand.


	13. Chapter 13

Advisers,   
Caer Bronach is secured. Former Mayor Gregory Dedrick was found to have drowned many of those from his own village, and refugees. He has fled from Crestwood. Leliana, if you could find him so we may bring him to justice.  I will journey to the Fallow Mire next.  
-Guinevere Trevelyan.  
  
\---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---  
  
Inquisitor,  
If you could please return to Skyhold, I have many things I would like to discuss with you.  
-Commander Cullen Rutherford  
  
Commander Cullen,   
I would rather drink swamp water.   
Sincerely,  
Guinevere Trevelyan  
  
Inquisitor,  
I regret what I said. Both at Haven and after our game. I realize I never fully apologized for the former offense, both of our emotions were out of check.  
-Commander Cullen Rutherford  
  
Templar,  
Back to my sensitivities again? Let me not burden you by assuring you that my journey to the Western Approach will keep me away longer than expected.   
Sincerely,  
Guinevere Trevelyan  
  
(The edging of the letter is decorated with phallus like symbols, and faces with tongues.)  
\---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---  
  
Esteemed Advisers and other,  
The assault on Griffon Wing Keep has gone well. As I am sure rumor will alert you- I have sustained some injuries. Nothing to worry about.  
  
But I am having a problem with poisonous gases, and poisoned water.  If something could be arranged so our success in the Approach remains.  
-Guinevere Trevelyan  
  
Inquisitor,  
  
What is the nature of your injury?   
  
We have an expert sent to you shortly on containing sulfur gases, he should be there within days of this letter, with supplies.   
  
Gathering forces for the siege of Adamant is going well. Another month, or six weeks at the most and they will be ready to march.  
-Leliana.  
  
Leliana,   
  
It was not actually gained while controlling the keep, but while patrolling the land around the keep. We ran into darkspawn, but let me assure you I am not blighted. A hurlock smashed my shoulder to pieces, but all is mended now.  
  
Your expert arrived and is working on containing the gases. I also helped your men relocate the creatures poisoning the water. That was fun, Rylen was not amused with our efforts. Insisting we should just kill the creatures, I did not oblige.  
  
Full of Sand,   
Guinevere Trevelyan  
  
Inquisitor,  
  
Please be careful, Darkspawn are not to be underestimated.   
  
We found the Mayor, he sits in a cell now. Please tell Dorian that we could not fill his request for an object that deters sand in the method he requires.  
-Leliana  
  
Leliana,  
  
We eliminated the source of Darkspawn. Some brilliant Tevinter Magister got too bold and dug too deep. Releasing the darkspawn. He is being transported to Skyhold as we speak.  
-Guinevere Trevelyan  
  
Inquisitor,  
  
I hope your leg heals quickly, I am having some of the most soothing slaves sent for you. Nobody expected Giants, of all things, to be in the approach. Otherwise, we would have had texts on the creatures sent to you. So the nature of your injury could be avoided.  
  
-Leliana  
  
\---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---  
  
Guinevere,  
  
Your Father and Mother have finally left Skyhold. But I am under strict obligation to alert them to when you return home. I thought you would like to know.  
  
There is another issue of concern relating to your family, but I will attach those letters separately.  
  
Best Wishes,  
Josephine Montilyet  
  
P.S. I cannot wait for another visit to Val Royeaux!  
  
\---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---  
  
Commander Cullen,  
  
I can no longer report on Guinevere for you. I suggest you end this silly feud or stop writing me!  
  
But, I beg of you, apologize so I may get out of this sand!  
  
-Dorian Pavus  
  
\---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---  
  
Commander Cully-Wully,  
  
Sera told me that nickname, nice odd girl.  
  
Your, or should I say our Inquisitor is doing well. Getting her out of the valley with the Giants was a close call, with her leg mangled by the rock and all. It was lucky that the healer we sent for was only a couple of days ride away. I was rewarded with a kiss, for my services of finding her a suitable healer.  
  
Pretty Inquisitor you lucky dog! I don't mind having her at the keep whatsoever!  
-Knight-Captain Rylen  
  
Commander Cullen,  
  
It was only on the cheek! Please stop reassigning my best men. I beg for your mercy!  
  
-Knight-Captain Rylen  
  
\---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---  
  
Advisers,  
  
I want to assure you all that I am in perfect health. Yes, the healer did take a few days to arrive, but all was fixed. Without me being worse off for wear. It was a chance to relax, and not get as sandy as usual. The Knight-Captain and his men are good company, but there are a few that have been recently reassigned, that I believe need to remain at the keep. I will attach their names in a different letter. The Keep cannot run the same without them here.  
-Inquisitor Guinevere Trevelyan  
  
Guinevere,  
  
I am being assured that some of the men being requested to return, simply cannot.   
  
The other matter of the Manuscript you requested has been translated, under as much secrecy as I could conduct. I would perhaps suggest avoiding the mouth, and tail of the creature. If you are hunting a dragon.  
-Leliana  
  
p.s. You owe me, Inquisitor.   
  
Leliana,  
  
Please inform the Commander of the importance of my request, and if he still disagrees... Please remind him of my position. I have discovered the true nature of the situation, under the 'sensitive' pretense he must think the request is under.  
  
Sincerely,  
Guinevere Trevelyan,  
  
\---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---  
  
Leliana,  
  
The woman was not lying. We found the mages, and few Templars besieged by the Avvar. After some negotiation, and a personal battle they have decided to free the group. The Avvar make many ghastly claims, but then again we found half of them drunk....and the other half indulging on Elfroot.  
-Cullen  
  
Cullen,  
The Inquisitor still offers no word on her return. But is now traveling to the Storm Coast, again avoiding Skyhold for another road.  
  
I am glad you were able to secure the group without too much bloodshed. Though, I am sure the story of a duel with the Avvar is one we all need to hear! We will have beds and supplies ready.  
-Leliana  
  
Leliana,  
  
Thank you. Progress is slow, as many are injured and weak. They are weary do not trust my men. The Herald would be a better diplomat for this. We need her to return shortly!  
-Cullen  
  
Cullen,   
  
You need to contact the Inquisitor yourself if you want her to return any quicker.  
  
-Leliana  
  
\---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---  
  
Curly,  
  
Please, let us return home.  
  
-Varric  
  
(A frowny face is drawn on the parchment)  
  
\---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---  
  
To whom it may concern,  
  
Sending more letters will not convince me to come home. Nor, am I doing this out of spite. As the troops are not yet ready, I do not see the purpose in returning. Which would also hinder my efforts to strengthen the Inquisition. It may even save time to simply await the army in the Western Approach. I will consider that over the next few days as I gather the last few regents for my Knight Enchanter training.  
  
Please, call off this hunt before you start looking for my phylactery.  
  
Regards,  
Inquisitor Guinevere Trevelyan.  
  
\---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---  
  
Guin,  
  
Guess who it is?  
  
You skipped didn't you!   
I have much to explain and have had less time to return for you. So much has changed in the few short months since the Conclave! Such position you have gained! From escaped mage to the Herald of Andraste! I can already guess the expression on your face as I mention your holy title!  
  
I won't waste much more of your time. I am safe, friend. Thanks to your Inquisition.   
  
I'll wait for you at Skyhold. Whenever you return, we can catch up then.  
  
I miss you,  
  
Del.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some touching happens in the beginning of this chapter. Figured the story needed the change of rating.

“Del-!”  
  
“Oh, come on Guinevere! I want to see what is so important about this mark!”  
  
“Nothing,” Guin assured her friend. Despite her statement, she offered the hand to her friend. Letting Delilah inspect the softly glowing mark.  
  
“I wonder what would happen if you stuck something into it-,” Delilah mused aloud, with a devilish grin.  
  
“You wouldn't!”  
  
Pulling her hand from the female, and shoving it under her rump. Sloshing the water in the tub, Delilah retorting by sending the water back at the Herald with a splash.   
  
The two sat on opposite sides of the tub facing one another. Time had taught them to not feel in the least nervous about being completely nude in front of the other. Guinevere was quite enraptured with the sight of her friend, blue-green eyes hardly able to leave Delilah. Not that Delilah was doing much of any other action either until she leaned forward to grab a pale leg. Gripping the calf in her hands, rubbing the limb.  
  
“I see you have adapted well to life outside of the Circle,” running her hands further up Guinevere's calf.  
  
The redhead blushed, reaching for the hand arresting her calf. “It's wonderful Del, being out...and somewhere that is not the wilderness!”  
  
“It looks well on you. You still, obviously don't eat enough. But you look stronger, and oh! Your hair looks gorgeous! And you lack hair, most notably in other places,” said Delilah teasingly.  
  
“I must let you borrow some of my things, this will make your hair feel amazing!” Guinevere gulped softly, “Not that it is bad. I've always envied your hair.”  
  
“I won't say no.”  
  
On Guinevere's urging, Delilah turned in the tub pulling her hair over Guin's shoulder nestling into her lap. She squirted some of the mix into Delilah's ebony hair, working in the solution.   
  
“So, what happened after the Conclave? I saw Linnae in Redcliffe.”  
  
“Well, that's later. But- We were lucky enough to be away from the blast. I will admit, we just ran fearing that we would be blamed for the explosion. If I knew you had made it-”  
  
“I don't blame you, Del.”  
  
“You would have never left me.”  
  
“Shh,” hushing her friend, “tell me the rest.”  
  
“So we ran for a while, some of us going in different directions. In a short version, we were then caught by some Avvar tribesman. I managed to talk my way out,” pausing, as Guinevere's fingers worked deeper into her scalp, “by then, your name had spread as being the Inquisitor. I naturally investigated. Being quite dirty, and half mad they held me for a while before they would hear me out.”  
  
Delilah paused for Guinevere's laughter.  
  
“But eventually, that Commander of yours listened, and rescued the rest of us.”  
  
“It seems your normal way of 'talking' gets you out of lots of trouble,” Guinevere mused. Working the solution from Delilah's hair with a bowl of water. Watching her friend pick up the blade and go to work on her own hairs.  
  
“We can't all survive on names, and prudishness alone,” Delilah jested, “though I would not have minded 'talking' to that Commander. He has lips, and a body meant for pleasing.”  
  
“I could try to arrange that,” murmured Guinevere. It didn't come without a foreign stabbing in her gut.   
  
They settled into silence, as Guinevere wrapped her arms around Delilah's waist. This certainly was home, in a small room nothing but the sounds of water and Delilah's breathing to lull her into an eased state. Reaching out with her fingers carefully, Guinevere grabbed the sponge with another concoction she began to rub it in slow circles over Delilah's chest. Surprised by the moan, she was greeted by, as it ran over a nipple. With caution thrown out, Guinevere did it again...this time lingering, Delilah's hand gripped hers guiding the hand in a circle. Delilah's hand pushed Guinevere's flatter her fingertips grazing the skin of her breast. Guinevere's other free hand made its way to the free breast, drawing a sharper sound from Delilah.  
  
The sponge traveled lower, easing over the mound between her legs. Her finger dared not explore, but the sponge rocked against Del's core. She bucked into her hand, another low moan escaped. Delilah's head pressed again against her shoulder. Showing plump and dark lips, just screaming to be kissed. Guinevere's mouth dared to move closer, nipping at the tip of her friend's ear.  
  
 Delilah didn't make the move Guinevere needed, and pleaded silently for. Her hand slowing the assault to a stop, leaving a gasping Delilah.  
  
“Del?”  
  
“Hmmm?” The sound coming out with annoyance.  
  
“Will you stay and help me?” Guinevere wanted nothing more.   
  
“Why? It may seem nice, but it's a trap. You are their prized bird,” Delilah began to shuffle her way out of the metal tub, “you should leave...with me. Help your old friends.”  
  
“I can't just leave.”  
  
“That's what you think. We could find this monster ourselves. Wouldn't it be smart to do it more quietly?”  
  
“Del-”  
  
“No, Guinevere. I cannot stay here. It feels like a circle, you even have Templar guards.”  
  
Delilah was impossible to control once she had decided on something, Guinevere let her walk from the room.  
  
\---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---  
  
Cullen paced along the pathway of the outer guest rooms. He was stuck between wanting to listen, and leaving this foolish idea behind. He heard the splashing of water, and what he was trying to misconstrue as anything but a moan.  It wasn't his place to interfere, to even be here. Waiting for the Herald to open up her room, or at least, be without another guest.  
  
The Inquisitor had returned early in the morning, and ran straight to her guest. Failing to show up for the rest of the day. The others had bid him to leave Guinevere be, but he could not.  
  
But what he was certainly not expecting was a woman emerging from the Inquisitor's room naked, and wet. Cullen was dumbfounded and anchored in his spot. The black haired beauty came at him with swaying hips, and bouncing breasts. Half of her mouth in a smile: one years ago that would have been tempting. Her tongue murmuring words that made his hairs stand at attention.    
  
“Your loss,” the temptress muttered moving out of his vision.   
  
With one step ahead of the other, he made the Herald's door. Just to find another undressed woman, but this time and on his honor her state of undress was not seen.  
  
“Maker's breath! I'm sorry!” Shielding his eyes behind the wooden board.  
  
“Nothing you haven't seen before, Templar.” But this tone was darker than usual.  
  
“I. I will just wait for you to get clothed,” exiting the room as quickly as he had made it in.   
  
Another slosh, and a few minutes later the Inquisitor called him back in. The Herald was in a more modest robe, though barely so.   
  
“Excuse me again, I should not have interrupted.”  
  
Guinevere waived her hand in a circle. “The bath was cold anyway.”  
  
It wasn't, as the steam still rose from the tub. Cullen stood in the doorway, as it was the only other space available in the small guest room. Getting the tub into the room alone must have been a great feat.  
  
“Should we continue this conversation where there is more room?”  
  
The Herald nodded, following his lead. Taking up one of the holes of the battlement beside him, leaning onto her elbows.  
  
“What did you need?” Guinevere asked passively, her eyes searching over the dark garden.  
  
“Well, business...or-”  
  
“Spit it out, Commander.”  
  
“About the last time we spoke, I am sorry. I should not have said those things. Which I realize might have been insensitive,” he slowed not seeing any telling reaction, “to say the least.”  
  
His reward came, the corner of her lip turned. “And?”  
  
“And?” he questioned.   
  
“I don't need to be watched like a small child. I can handle myself without being constantly checked up on.”  
  
“You could have been in danger,” Cullen hesitated, “I was worried.”   
  
Guinevere peered at him curiously, her gaze questioned his motives. But how could she not understand? The future depended on her. Not to mention how upset Josie would be. Cullen would also care.   
  
“The world and all, it needs me,” the same passive tone continued as before.  
  
“I can see you are upset, here, let me leave you alone.” Shuffling at his words, he wouldn't impose on her space. “I just need your approval on something... quick.”  
  
“I'm not in the mood to read a report, Cullen.”  
  
“It's not important, and I'm sure you'd agree.”  
  
Guinevere's look questioned him again, frowning.  
  
“I promise.”  
  
“Fine.” Taking the board from him, dipping the attached quill into the ink and signing her name all without looking at the order.   
  
“Sorry again for intruding, Herald.”  
  
“It's...it's no problem.”  
\---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---  
  
“AATAASHHIII.”  
  
A female voice giggled, thundering loudly down the Great Hall. Her attempt to stifle a giggle as she knocked into a chair failed, the next crash could only be the chair and the person falling to the ground. The thrashing that followed knocked aside more chairs and ended as suddenly as it had begun.    
  
“Atasshi,” peeped the voice. Followed by further muffled giggling.   
  
This got Cullen curious, slowly pacing toward the person who had the goal of waking up the entire fortress single-highhandedly. His hand rested on the hilt of his sword, steps slow and silent. All other noise had ceased, drawing back the heavy and silent air of the keep.   
  
“Why are you up at this hour?” he questioned.  
  
“Why are you awake, huh?” The voice challenged, peering out from underneath the table.  The whites of her eyes and teeth glinting in the dark.  
  
“That's not, nevermind,” Cullen said with a sigh, offering out his hand to the woman curling up beneath the table. “Let's get you to bed.”  
  
“No, I'm not tired,” statement classified as a lie as she yawned, “Plus, the table is comfy. They won't find me here.”  
  
“Who won't find you here?”  
  
“I'm being followed!” Guinevere exclaimed, covering her mouth as she slipped away from her whisper.  
  
Cullen couldn't restrain a chuckle,”Who is following you?”  
  
“The, the people who are everywhere...” falling silent in her pursuit of words, “they have very silly hats, I wonder what they look like with their hats off.”  
  
Cullen glanced around, he didn't see any of the many messengers and couriers following her at this time. Which was a serious breach of his schedule of rounds, especially for this time of night. When only mischief could happen. His anger wouldn't bubble for long, as a first soldier rounded into the Great Hall. Looking about in a panic.  
  
The soldier was intelligent to immediately approach the Commander, winded.  
  
“Ser, we can't find the Inquisitor!” Slapping his breast as was custom.  
  
“Oh?” Cullen asked, rising to one knee from the ground.  
  
“Hermy and I were following her because she left the Herald's rest quite, well, off,” mumbling his words, worrying at offending the Commander, “So we watched her quietly...followed her. Then she got out of view, for just a second, and Ser...She shocked us!”  
  
“Tee-hee,” escaped a faint giggle from the table.   
  
“”Shocked you?” Interrogating him with folded arms.  
  
“Like BAM! Zap!” the soldier exuberantly replied, “We were following her because she left the rest stumbling, and falling about. Hermy and me lose sight of her for one second, and then around the next corner...BAM! Out like a light.”  
  
Cullen raised an eyebrow.  
  
The soldier continued, despite the annoyed expression Cullen was developing, “I woke up before Hermy did though I didn't go after the Herald right away. I had to prop Hermy up, so others wouldn't trip over her in the dark.”  
  
Predicatively, a female soldier came peeling into the Hall, curly hair flying about her head. Her brown skin turned pale. “Commander! Please help us! The Herald is dangerous! Do we send for Templars?”  
  
The table gained an eerie silence.  
  
“Templars? For what purpose?”  
  
“The magic, Ser, what if we really spook her this time?”  
  
“So we throw a Templar at a mage, and expect her to not attack?”  
  
“I didn't think-,” Hermy stammered.  
  
“Obviously, you are not thinking. A drunk mage is less likely to hold back, and secondly, she is our Herald.” Taking his head in his hand, “But that does give me an idea for training tomorrow. Magic resistance exercises, why need Templars when we can learn to become them!”   
  
They both stood with their mouths open, gaping at the Commander. With a single huff, they were sent scurrying.  
  
“Do not stop until you have found her, I will expect a report on your progress!” He called after the pair, pleased in his punishment.   
  
“Templar bastards...” concluded the table.  
  
Cullen found himself lowering to his hands and knees, making eye contact with Guinevere.   
  
“Inquisitor, I believe you are safe now,” offering his hand.  
  
“I'm not the Inquisitor.”  
  
“Guinevere, if you will allow me to escort you-”  
  
“No.”  
  
“Why not?” the tick of impatience surfacing through his words.  
  
Guinevere rolled over, keeping her back to him. Sighing softly. “I have some things to work out.”  
  
Cullen sighed in turn, sitting back on his haunches. Eyes closing as he rubbed at his neck, he couldn't leave her there. This was his fault. His mind refused to focus from the moment she had left her standing outside. His reports, and work suffered...he was distracted. Returning to Guinevere over, and over again. Her warm voice left so empty. He hadn't bothered to ask her, or offer to comfort her. At least, he had the brains to not ask for her apology. Shouldn't that be enough? What was his responsibility to her anyway? The Inq-, Guinevere had run off to drink with Iron Bull, no less than quarter of an hour later.  
  
His lacking words weren't what she wanted or needed. Guinevere had others to confide in, others who wouldn't bumble...or be awkward with his words.   
  
Cullen stole a glance underneath the table, finding the mage looking directly at him. Eyes widened, and then hid in her arm.  
  
“If you do not come out, I have no reason to remain.” He was lying.   
  
The Commander forced himself to his feet, taking the first step away. Only the quietest shuffle resulted. Two more steps and he heard the mage knock into the chairs barring her path. Three more steps were his predetermined limit, and by the last step, the woman fell against him. Giggling softly into his mantle. Cullen smiled, grasping the fingers that ghosted his palm.  
  
Their journey to her room was mostly quiet, save for running into Solas. Who gave them both a questioning and accepting look returning to his reading in the dim candlelight.  
  
Cullen was happy to find the tub removed from the small room, making room for both of them to get into the room without walking single file. Pulling open the door had made it impossible for him to keep her hand, urging her softly to retired again.  
  
Guinevere stood between the bed, and the door. She would take a step to the door, and then back pedal to the bed wavering with her steps. Blue-green eyes pleading silently.  
  
“Please, stay with me.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“Not long. Or at all,” Guinevere fretted, pushing back a lock of her gone wild hair. “Sleep sweet, Cullen.” Steps decided as she moved to pull the door shut.   
  
“Her-, Guinevere wait.” Cullen easily wedging his body in the doorway.  
  
“Just...just. I'll make sure you go to sleep. Could I tempt you with a free braiding of your hair? So it won't get tangled.”  
  
“I'd like that,” answering softly.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long. Life.

So began the march on Adamant.  
  
Luckily the siege engines were already in the Western Approach, ready to be called on. The next biggest obstacle was getting the troops from Skyhold to the fortress. There was no way around it; it was going to be a hard march. But the men itched for revenge after the events of Haven. They were more than happy to put in a few weeks travel for the chance at vengeance. It also meant that the Commander had a chance to spend more time with the Inquisitor.  
  
Guinevere had watched the man carefully poke around camp, unsure of where to place himself within the flow of her companions. It wasn't intentional that he was an outsider, it was just difficult to adjust to a new face within a tightly bounded group. His niche was not yet established. Consorting with solely his officers was not seemly, and sticking around the Inquisitor was his place. Whether it was his preference or not.  
  
Despite her small attempts to include the Commander, he seemed determined to not fully integrate. Spending all of his down time within his tent, while everyone else moved around without him. If it were not for the noise of the armies behind them, and the slowness of travel the group almost felt like this was any other trip to a distant location, in need of their rescue.  
  
Like any other trip, Guinevere was readily training.   
  
In partnering with her abilities as a Knight Enchanter, Guinevere wanted to learn how to fight better unarmed. Blocking, rolling away, and striking; all while different with a weapon in hand translated over well to fighting with one. With her new abilities, she also found herself at the forefront of battle.  She needed to learn how to take a hit without crumbling. So the bear woman herself was conned into teaching unarmed fighting. A new diversion that amused the companions, especially as the game turned to betting. With shirts always on the line.   
  
The tents, Cullen's included, had been carefully placed in a circle that morning. Varric sensing the likelihood of profit also spread the word of this fight, with the help of a pretty face convinced the Commander to halt drills and leave minimal rotations during a half hour period. Calling it team building, and not standing around with such a serious expression on everyone's face. Guinevere was perfectly happy to have everyone gathered around, siding with Varric on the merits of the 'show' being a way to foster morale. Cullen didn't say no for long.  
  
The camp was buzzing with excitement over the brawl happening that night. Everyone was up in arms about who wold win, and more importantly who would have the better body. The subject was pretty divided and opinions ran high, the march that day had moved with little whining, and fewer problems than usual.  
  
Guinevere paced around her tent, stretching her arms before she pushed through the crowd. Cassandra was a little off put by all the attention- she was not one for these ostentatious shows. Brawling in the company of the companions was showy enough; now the entire army was too much.   
  
Before the dusk settled, the ring was silent. Countless bodies surrounded the two.  
  
\---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---  
  
Cullen found himself watching the brawl, his tent in plain view of the ring. Not many soldiers had dared to block his tent, even under the cover of a faceless majority.  He had a prime spot to view the festivities, and Varric spotted him quickly. Not so afraid of the gruff Commander.  
  
“Can I interest you in a bet? Pretty even odds too, Curly.”  
  
Cullen waived off the dwarf, “I can not. I would not want to make either of them angry.”  
  
“That's the bet I would take too,” Varric replied with a laugh, “but man to man, which one's shirt would you rather see off?”  
  
Cullen balked, and turned red in one. “Is this a common thing?”  
  
“How else do you think Freckles and the Seeker get along? When one gets mad at the other, a punch is enough to settle the score.”  
  
“I could see that from Cassandra, but the Herald?”  
  
“Yes, Curly, she also has nice breasts.”  
  
Cullen shook his head, watching the two square off against one another. Varric leaving him to officiate the match. The fight started with a roar, and Cassandra made the first contact. Guinevere spun out of the way of the next hit. Her blue-green eyes lingered, in what he thought was his direction. The distraction sent the mage to the ground. His lips tightened, he did not like this.  Cullen's palm sought the comfort of the hilt of his sword, rubbing the round edge softly.  
  
“Knight-Captian, I mean Commander Cullen.”  
  
The voice sent a shiver up his spine. He had let himself get distracted and opened up to attack. He wasn't looking forward to any encounter with the Champion. That was a life he was trying to forget and repent from. So far a private encounter had yet to happen, whatever she wanted he was sure he would regret.  
  
“Yes, Hawke?” he asked, coldly.  
  
“Please, Commander. I'm not here to completely ruin your night.”  
  
“Why are you here?”  
  
“I wanted to know about Kirkwall- I haven't been able to visit.”  
  
The conversation was surprisingly pleasant, discussing the reconstruction of the city. It branched to Starkhaven quickly, and the offer by Sebastian to help rebuild the city. But ultimately, the conversation stumbled to an awkward halt.  
  
Cullen returned to watching the fight; it had evolved since his brief spar with the Inquisitor. Rather than a single match, it was the best out of three. The rule of 'ass on the ground' had also changed; it was now face first on the ground. Two rounds had passed, the final left to determine the winner. Cassandra didn't fight with the same spirit, as usual, the crowd was swaying her balance. Guinevere only grew more confident, fueled by the cheering voices.  
  
The last round started after the last call for bets was placed. The two figures paced in a circle, waiting for the other to act. Guinevere played the role of goader by prodding her tongue at the Seeker. The Seeker dove for the mage, but the mage dodged to the side. The red-head played defensively, letting Cassandra chase her around the circle.   
  
Cassandra took the bait, barreling for the smaller female. With a crack, the mage disappeared, the crowd gasped in unison. Cassandra fell face first into the ground; the plucky mage stood proudly behind her fallen friend. Grinning sheepishly at the crowd, Cullen chuckled at the cheek Guinevere had managed.   
  
“So, are you soft on her?”  
  
“What?” posing the question as if it were preposterous.  
  
“Well if rumors are to be trusted.”  
  
“Is..is there a problem?” his hand reaching to soothe the back of his neck.  
  
“No, not usually, buuuut” Hawke half sang.  
  
“But?” Cullen's words grew curt.  
  
“And I quote, 'Mages can not be treated like people. They are not like you and me.' It seems a bit contradictory to the puppy dogs eyes you keep sending the girl.”  
  
“Of course you...,” his words ended in a heavy sigh,” I wasn't a good person then. Perhaps, now either. But I see my mistake in thinking a mage is less than human.”  
  
“Good tits can't hurt.”   
  
“I...I-”  
  
“You cheat! Varric this is complete-” Cassandra's voice rang over the crowd.   
  
“Didn't like those apples, Cassie?” Guinevere teased.  
  
“You used magic! That wasn't-”  
  
“Wasn't mentioned even once. You're just sore you lost!”  
  
“No, it was unfair!”  
  
“What are you going to do about that?” Guinevere rubbed the cloth of Cassandra's shirt against her rear.   
  
“You little!”  
  
“Seeker, SEEKER!” Varric's joking tone turned to a shout.  
  
Before Guinevere could think to move, Cassandra's fist connected with the mage's left cheek. Sending the much smaller and ungrounded mage spiraling to the ground. Before Cullen could even take a step to break up the fight, the crowd had intervened. The red-headed mage became lost in the crowd, Hawke taking leave of his side at close to the same time.   
  
\---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---  
  
The Inquisitor paced within meters of the Commander's tent. Back and forth. Back and forth. He hadn't emerged from the tent for supper; she wasn't about to bother the man either while he relieved himself. Guinevere had hoped to run into him. Dinner was the obvious preference as it couldn't be deemed too obvious, but since he had decided not to show both went without a meal. Now it left her with no choice but to intrude. Once again.  
  
Pulling in a hard breath, the mage marched forward. Strutting through the flaps of the tent as if she owned the place, or so went the story in her head. It was rather a soft cough, and a hailing later than Guin finally ducked into the tent. Cullen's full attention on the figure encroaching on his space.   
  
Guinevere stood awkwardly, her mouth agape in an attempt to reign in her words. This should have been simple. It was an easy question. Not a big deal. Over-thinking had turned a small query into a question of her confidence. His casual attire helped little.  
  
Seeing the Commander in an outfit so casual was the rarest of sights. While his overcoat looked dashing- a plain white tunic was divine. The usual leathers contrasted with the mess of curls escaped from the pomade that kept them carefully in line. His sleeves rolled up to reveal muscled forearms, a peak of chest deliciously hinting at the toned torso beneath the clothes. Honeyed eyes stared at her in growing concern sprinkled with the slightest hint of amusement.  
  
“Looks like Cassandra got the best of you.”   
  
Her hand moved to touch gingerly the bruise forming against her orbital bone. “I think so.”  
  
“Did you need anything, Herald?”  
  
Cullen's quill returned to his papers, eyes trailing from the Inquisitor with the shift of his focus. Guin didn't bother to correct her title but felt the sting as sharply as ghosting over her bruise had managed.   
  
“I was,” the female stalked closer with her words, “wondering if you were interested in the festivities going on tonight.” Bold fingers brushing against the ridges of his bare knuckles trying to call his attention away from work.  
  
The Commander stiffened drawing to his full height, peering down at the female his hand blindly reaching for the pommel that was not there. “I don't have time for such...frivolity. I may not have Skyhold to be concerned with for the moment, but this march has at least tripled my workload.” True to his words, he tucked back into his papers with another dip of his quill into the ink pot.   
  
“Oh, I'm sorry.”  
  
“For what?”  
  
“It was... I was just,” Guinevere fumbled on her words. Disappointment rose in addition to bile in her throat; this entire endeavor had been foolish. Perhaps, but doubtfully, Cole had also misspoken. The Commander would never have the time for dancing.   
  
“Is something wrong?” Cullen pried, his eyes once again leaving the papers.  
  
“No, I'm being silly.” It was easy to admit some truth.   
  
Cullen sighed softly his hand raised slowly, but so suddenly, to brush the rim of her purpling skin, drawing a flinch from Guinevere. Her face shaking to ride itself of the source of pain. Cullen's lips creased into a deep frown. “You should have a healer check that.”  
  
The silence grew between them, awkwardness filling the cracks left by the words Guinevere held back. Cullen's hands returned to work the scratching of the quill grew loud. Grating. Guinevere couldn't take it much longer.   
  
“I like your hair.”  
  
'What?” red spawned across his fair cheeks.  
  
“It looks nice. It makes you seem less gruff.”  
  
The man chuckled softly, “Is that so? Should I remember that?”  
  
“At least for me,” her voice cracking at the implication.  
  
“Well,” Cullen trailed off, grinning solely in the face of his missives.   
  
The lack of further retort sparked something in the mage, whether it was the desire to throw herself at him or run away wasn't clear. Just further maddening. Why was she feeling this way? Why bother asking him to dance? Any of the companions would dance if asked. Any scout or soldier would feel honored. But the Commander stood unaware, painfully unaware of this girlish desire. But it wasn't his fault; Guinevere did not speak candidly.   
  
Frustrated eyes wandered from the man, trying to grasp at anything that might leverage her into sticking around. Helping with orders was an easy first guess, but laziness dictated that it wouldn't be her first try. The object of interest manifested in the form of a leather book the title lined in gold letters, “The Three Chevaliers.” Curious hands seized the book, flipping open the first page. The title of the novel, the next page a dedication and several of those following were additional prefixes to the book. Knowing her way from more than a few texts she skipped the boring parts surprised to find herself happening upon a work, not about the theoretical use of some obscure form of magic.  
  
“Is this smut?” Guinevere pondered aloud, innocently.  
  
Cullen visibly balked, eyes wide as she studied the mage, “Maker's breath, why would you think that?”  
  
“Cole is always talking about how Cassandra reads him smut. I've never read it.”  
  
“Andraste's- Wait, you know what smut is? Don't you?” Rubbing his forehead.  
  
“No.”  
  
“Maker's br- wait, how do you not?” Cullen reddened at the thought. He had been lucky this particular book was not smut.  
  
“I don't think many Circles allow mages to read anything but religious text, or theoretical magic books. We might get too many ideas.”  
  
“I never considered,” Cullen paused, “but you never got any of your own? The Three Chevaliers is a classic. I have not read the book, but everyone knows the story.”  
  
“I don't.”  
  
Cullen returned to his silence, unknown to Guin, because of the shame he felt. This female was the first mage he had let himself grow close, well not quite close yet, but the first one that had pushed past a first name basis. While he wasn't the Templar that kept her locked away, his kind had. How many people had he blocked from the simplest of pleasures? Guinevere didn't know the joy in escaping into a book, what else could she have possibly missed because of being locked away? \  
  
The female found herself wrapped into the book; the first few sentences drew Guinevere instantly to the young and brash Hartagnan. A colorful and vibrant world unfolded quickly, as the young man started on his first journey away from home.  
  
“Cullen, who is Ser Quixote?”  
  
The Commander paused, a droplet of ink dripping onto the page, “A typical idoit, he jousted with windmills because he thought they were giants. Fought an army than was little more than sheep.”  
  
“Oh...” Guinevere trailed, diving back into the book.   
  
“Oooh, Empress Jeaneve the First,” Guinevere cooed over the pages, “but that would ruin the timeline.”  
  
Cullen titled his head regarding the mage carefully, “How do you figure?"   
  
“Empress Jeaneve started the Chevalier Order, having them established for years before this point would be inaccurate.”  
  
“You know some of an ancient Empress,” Cullen said with a chuckle, “but you cannot tell me the plot of the Three Chevaliers?”  
  
Guinevere scoffed, holding a hand daintily across her chest, “I am half Orlesian on my Mother's side! Or course I would know!”  
  
“I thought I detected something dramatic about you.”  
  
“I should be offended Commander, but I know better than to let you vex me!”  
  
“Sometimes, Herald, the truth is most hurtful.”  
  
With an emphasized humpf Guin returned to the pages. Quickly finding herself with yet another issue that had her questioning the words written on the pages.  Those questions to turned to soft chuckling as Hartagnan began to challenge the stranger over a petty insult. The man was certainly brash. Cullen's gaze left from his work once again curious about what had turned the mage into a distracting and giggling mess. She drew in a sharper breath.  
  
“The bastard!”  
  
“Who's the bastard?” Attempting to dam the annoyance seeping through his tone.  
  
“He stole Hartagnan's letter!” Guinevere cried.  
  
“Please, please don't spoil it!”  
  
“Oh? I thought you had read it?”  
  
With a great sigh, Cullen let the quill clatter to the desk, rubbing his temples, “No, but I would like to. But there is an army to command.”  
  
She frowned, closing the book. “I'm sorry, I should not be bothering you. You have been more than patient enough with my presence.”  
  
The Commander blocked her attempt to set the book back on the corner of the makeshift desk, shaking his head at the female. “I can tell you are enjoying it. Please, take it.”  
  
“But, Cullen-”  
  
“Please, Herald, I'm honestly too jealous to watch you read. I have but the rarest moments of free time.”  
  
Guinevere huffed again, the whisps of red hair dancing above her forehead. “What if I read it to you?”  
  
“I must decline, I could not bore you so.” Cullen flatly refused.  
  
“Well, what if I don't understand the references?”  
  
“Ask somebody?” The gruffness was starting to edge away.  
  
The mage huffed, “They don't need to know the full extent of my stupidity.”  
  
“I do not think naivety, in your case, would be considered 'stupid,'” Cullen challenged,  “Besides, I think Varric takes pride in being the father figure I am sure he would enjoy corrupting another.” The man returned to his work, but the female was not done. Pressing the book, and her hands atop it against the desk. Bottom lip gutting out just enough, but not too much.   
  
“Please, you would be doing me a great service.” Guinevere tucked her chin bashfully into the opposite shoulder, lashes fluttering.   
  
“Herald, I-” honey eyes now forced to surrender from the reports.   
  
The mage did not give up, letting her mouth crease into a full frown. Blue-green eyes gave out one last plea.  
  
“Tonight. We can try it tonight, but there is no guarantee this will continue any further.” The Commander gave into Guinevere's ploy.  
  
\---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---  
  
The harder he protested, the later he had found himself with the Herald still in his tent. Vehement protesting quieted to a dull roar by the end of the first week of Guinevere reading aloud to him. If he was honest, he had fallen in love the first night. Her barely contained giggling had dislodged the last remaining hardness toward her intrusion on his work. She grew quickly braver.  
  
Guinevere twirled across the floor of the tent acting out the fight the characters had engaged. The next moment she would be angry at Hartagnan, and then moved to cooing over mysterious Athon. Obviously, he was her favorite. A second later, her rump would rest against the edge of his desk. He wanted to chide her, but couldn't bring himself to do it- it was part of the charm.  
  
But what became the most curious, and guiltiest of pleasures, was the time the mage spent reclined in his cot. His dreams came softer, the mere presence of her scent was enough to put a buffer on his fevered dreams. Falling into such a sweet smell nightly coerced the Commander into actually sleeping in his cot granting the man a better night of sleep.  The improvement of his sleep lead to easier mornings for the Commander, he found his work completed quickly.  
  
Taking a page from Josephine's book, he had a large and thin slab of wood to write with during the long marches they army endured each day. Either on a horse or foot, he found a comfortable way to complete his work leaving more time for him to watch the mage flit about his tent. Of course, he kept this hidden from Guinevere, but she was usually far too busy socializing to pay him much mind.  
  
The headaches had unfortunately grown harder to ignore as they approached the Western Approach. Traveling strained his body, and after a few weeks of daily marching, it was beginning to wear on him.  
  
Like many other times, the mage had her rear parked on his desk. A bare hand reclined lazily to balance her, as the book was perched on both of her thighs. Guinevere's voice played evenly, the excitement of the story waned as the dastardly Milady had been caught by her brother in law. She was deeply entrenched in the story, her voice rising in pitch and speed as Lord de Snow mentioned Milady's previous marriage. But Cullen was not so hooked into the story of the book- he was focused on something else. The bare finger's that grazed so close to his stack of papers.   
  
The Commander learned quickly that the less clothing he wore, the more excuses she would find to brush the barred skin. Perhaps it was over-thinking a simple brushing of fingers, or his heightened sensitivity to touch after years in layers of armor but he had liked to think it intentional. His actions were certainly intentional.  
  
Even the one he was plotting. Fingers stretched ebbing ever closer to her soft hands. Fingers could only move so far until the movement of his entire hand gave way to his desires. Slowly his hand reared, joints followed, in the same manner, his arm extended without a fight. The tips of his fingers felt the warmth emanating from the mage's skin. But Delilah. Cullen's fingers retreated, curling into his palm.  
  
Guinevere shot from his desk, grinning as the book picked up again. Lord de Snow threatened Milady, finally urging the story to begin spinning again. The Herald never was still for long and paced the length of the tent. Cullen couldn't help but sigh, hiding his face once more within his papers.  
  
“Commander!” Jim's voice broke his concentration.  
  
Guinevere paused in her reading, watching the scout shift his weight nervously. Cullen had been well behaved in his handling of Jim; the poor scout had an awful habit of walking in at the worst moments. This time was the exception, but still the scout fidgeted.   
  
“Yes, Scout?” Cullen asked.  
  
“You have a visitor Ser, he insisted on being-.”  
  
The visitor walked in, Varric glancing at Guinevere the most curiously.  
  
“Sorry Curly, I didn't want to wait any longer. And Freckles, this is where you have been hiding?”  
  
Cullen answered Varric's apology with a dismissive swipe of his hand. Scout Jim taking that as his signal to leave.  
  
“Hiding?”  
  
“You have disappeared every night for weeks! I never thought you one for such serious company,” Varric teased, “He must be keeping you entertained in other ways.” Winking at the Herald.  
  
Guinevere scrunched her nose, shaking her face at the dwarf. “Well, I've wasted enough of the Commander's time tonight. I will leave you to your business.” Forgetting to return the book as she left the tent.   
  
Varric chuckled, “So are you pretending to do work for me too?”  
  
Cullen balked, eyeing the dwarf, “What do you mean?” His bluff was pushed too roughly, the back of his hand rubbing his neck.   
  
“Curly, you're lucky we have kept Freckles from seeing you work during our marches. Cole insisted, it actually became quite the game.” Varric chuckled.  
  
“I do not see why this is a pressing issue, Master Teth-”  
  
Varric interrupted the Commander, “Keep your shirt on, Commander. I was only joking, I am just looking out for her after all.”  
  
“I think the Herald can take care of herself,” Cullen defended.  
  
“In a fight sure.”  
  
“Is this an accusation?” Cullen stood tall.  
  
“No, Curly. I just like to look out for her. She's naive and new to the romance game. I don't want to see her hurt.”  
  
“You should be having this discussion with Delilah, not me. I am nothing more than a friend.”  
  
“Delilah? It sounded like they had a falling out.”  
  
“I heard them...doing,” Cullen reddened immediately, “things.”  
  
“Sex? With her? Freckles has yet to kiss anyone, yet do that.”  
  
Cullen frowned at the dwarf, also feeling sheepish. It was good news, and news he didn't need to hear. If she was truly inexperienced, he didn't need to be pursuing her either.  A broken mad did not deserve a woman, a maiden much less.   
  
“They...fought?”  
  
“Half of Thedas heard her shouting 'Atashi'. But I heard that the next day drills involved fireballs, because of some mage hunt for the Inquisitor the night before.” Varric grinned, pleased with the reaction he got from Cullen.   
  
“I hadn't-, No. It doesn't matter.” Shaking his head to clear it.   
  
“She won't give you the choice if you don't do something, Curly.”  
  
“But she's the Inquisitor, and we are at war.”  
  
“I think that she is deciding to spend all of this time with you should be clear enough.”  
  
Cullen shook his head once again, deciding to keep his attention on the paperwork before him. Tomorrow they would arrive at Griffin Wing Keep, from there they would make the short march to Adamant. Perhaps this would give enough time for Guinevere's attentions to be focused elsewhere. He could use the break from her voice, no matter how pleasant his headaches were almost unbearable.  
  
"Did you have something pressing to discuss Master Tethras?"  
  
"You know, I actually forgot," Varric laughed, heading out for the exit, "Curly, just don't make her cry."


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Minor spoilers for the book I am spoofing...
> 
> If that worries you. 
> 
> But the book is 172 years old...so.
> 
> Sorry for my chapters just getting longer.

“Rylen!” The mage squealed.  
  
In a move forgetful of decorum, the Knight-Captain spun Guinevere around. Resulting in another grating and high-pitched squeal from the female.  
  
“Lady Inquisitor!” Chuckled Rylen, returning Guinevere to her feet.   
  
The mage giggled as she straightened her clothing, “It has been far too long Rylen! If only you were closer!”  
  
“Lady Trevelyan, what I would give to be close. The Approach lacks in fair faces,” Rylen continued despite the murderous look Cullen threw his way-  his grin grew shit-eating, “to have two beautiful faces is almost more than I can bear!” Rylen touched his chest solemnly, smiling as the Commander's expression grew darker.  
  
“It is good we do not entrust you with a position closer to civilization, nothing would get done while you flirt.” Cullen drawled.  
  
“Please, Cullen, I started-”  
  
“Inquisitor, he should know how to properly address a superior.” Cullen was finished with this distraction; his hand rubbed the back of his neck. His steps heading for the map and table set up for their attack plan.  
  
“Well, if I am his superior can't I dictate how he should greet me in turn?” Guinevere's hands moved to her hips, but her facade remained playful.  
  
Cullen turned his head to eye the mage, her sass never retired. “But in the presence of another commanding officer, proper respect is expected. Lest her forgets who pays him. “ He motioned to the table. Cullen wanted to retire to a private room as soon as possible. He didn't have the energy required to argue with her. “If we could return to the siege that will be taking place tomorrow.”  
  
Rylen, thankfully, hushed the mage. “It is alright, Miss. I should have remembered that the Commander is a full-time grump.” Guinevere giggled behind her palm.  
  
Cullen let the statement go without an argument. The strategy to take Adamant drug on slowly. Guinevere was a little difficult to heel to complete attention over such rigorous planning. Not that she wasn't trying, she just knew little of tactics regarding the battlefield. Once she fell behind, she lost all attention in the matter.   
  
Finally, it was settled, they would take the outside of the keep. Guinevere would run a path through the center of the keep, and meet with Erimond head on. Blackwall would remain with Cullen so he could convince other Wardens to join with them, or in the least to stop fighting them. Guinevere would take along Varric, Cassandra, and Solas.  The rest of the companions would aid the armies in repelling the Wardens and Demons.   
  
\---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---  
  
The first part of the siege went well- well considering the amount of men that had not died. Lining up the siege equipment was always a harrowing part of the battle, it left a lot of men open to attack. It only got worse as the men charged for the doors of the keep with the slow moving ram.   
  
Cullen had to keep reminding Guinevere that wasting her energy now was not worth it.  Solas finally intervened after Guinevere had released a third spell. Deflated the mage marched a few steps ahead of the detail keeping her safe until she could enter the keep. In a move teeming with madness, or bravery, he trotted for the red-headed mage. The air surrounding her buzzed, the hairs on his arm stood at attention. A metallic taste thickened in his mouth.   
  
Her hand rubbed her face from behind the braided mane of red hair.   
  
“Guinevere?” he questioned softly.   
  
She didn't look back or hesitate in her steps.   
  
His hand seized her shoulder, forcing the mage to spin in her steps. He regretted it. His thumb brushed at the black marks rolling down her cheeks.  Defiantly a hand swiped across her face to extinguish the trace of those marks.   
  
“I can't stand seeing them die for me.”   
  
Cullen's amber eyes mellowed his lips curled into a soft smile, “They do it for themselves, just as much as they do it for you. They have families, friends, lovers that the Elder One threatens. The men are honored to die for that.”  
  
She finally allowed her cheek to settle in the crook of his hand, “Thank you, Cullen.”  
  
“Perhaps, joining the team with the battering ram may prove to be morale boosting. If you are of a mind.” Yes, he could let her do that. She would be surrounded by several shielded men; it was a safe enough place to let her fight. Maker knew what she would face in the Keep.   
  
Guinevere's face lit up, her smile beaming even in the much of the battlefield. “Cass, Solas, and Varric! Let's go!”   
  
Cullen watched her speed off he couldn't help but sigh softly. He worried about her getting into trouble. Now the possible ramifications of allowing her to join the front lines started to seep into his thoughts. Would seeing the men die more personally upset her? Cullen flinched as his fear came to life- a man directly in front of her had his skull caved in by a rock.  The mage teetered in her place; then she bellowed as she sent blue streaks of magic at the offender. Blasting the Warden, and several beside him into charred chunks.   
  
Her staff twirled with practiced motions; her magic was direct when not emotionally charged. But devastating as she poured her heart into defending the men that pulled the battering ram's arm up and then down into the door. Three consecutive strikes later and the gate gave way to the forces of the Inquisition. Guinevere was amoung the first to enter the keep, the striking and snapping of energy reverberated loudly within the walls of the old keep. Before he could reach the gate the lower Bailey was cleared, Guinevere's form wrapped in blue tendrils of energy.   
  
“All right, Inquisitor. You have your way in. Best make use of it.” If he said much more, he couldn't make himself let her go. Looking into those turquoise eyes that met him was almost too much. “We'll keep the main host of demons occupied for as long as we can.”  
  
“I'll be fine. Just keep the men safe.” Her head was already swiveling to check the path in front of her.   
  
“We'll do what we have to, Inquisitor.” His words almost came out with considerate snark. He ignored her annoyed look, “Warden Stroud will guard your back. Hawke is with our soldiers on the battlements. She's assisting them until you arrive.”  
  
The scream of a soldier broke his concentration momentarily, his blood boiling at the sight of a demon, “There's too much resistance on the walls. Our men on the ladders can't get a foothold. If you can clear out the enemies on the battlements, we'll cover your advance.” Cullen pivoted, moved a couple of steps then paused.  
  
“Please, be careful- I. Just come back in one piece.” His words came easier than normal, not perfect. But enough, regretting say anything further would not help him keep a clear head during the battle. A pressing headache was quite enough.  
  
Cullen didn't wait to hear her respond; it was time to get back to issuing out orders. The rest of the army needed to take the building, and also, protect themselves while Lady Trevelyan worked on securing the battlements. Before he could think to breathe, he found himself fighting through hordes of demons. Left, right, down, slicing up and still the blighted creatures came through. A soldier fell at his side, another lay wounded, the third also went down.  
  
Cullen found himself with demons on each side of him, the creatures pushing him into a corner. The other men nearer to him were not facing much better odds, becoming overwhelmed by the seemingly endless swarms of demons. With a cry he redoubled his efforts, the bright side to this situation was that his headache had been pushed away. But through his efforts, he had failed to notice that he was the last man standing in the hallway he was defending.  
  
His next cry was in pain as a demon racked his thigh, and his situation became all too apparent. He was surrounded, and in quite narrow quarters.   
  
Hawke fell from an exposed beam, diving into the horde of demons. “Need some help, Commander?”  
  
“Why aren't you with the Inquisitor?” He shouted.  
  
“I was told to help down here.”  
  
Cullen wouldn't argue any further. The hallway was cleared without any more words. With the help of the battlements being cleared, his men were able to take over the front wall. The Inquisition's army was taking yet another foothold. Progress to the main Bailey proved to be easier than the previous progress. As much as he was afraid of Hawke, she was an excellent fighter. She saved many lives. With less resistance from the non-magical Grey Wardens, the path was clear for the Inquisitor to find Erimond and Clarel.  
  
Cullen sent a scout and Hawke along with him to backtrack and find the Inquisitor. They could hold easily enough from a central location. He would go where help was most needed, and secure the rest of the keep. Seeing to the siege engines couldn't hurt either, and directing the wounded would be a valuable use of time. Especially if the those protecting the wounded also fell, so it was to the wounded and siege weapons that Cullen headed for. He caught a soldier limping back to the camp and assisted the man on the way back.  
  
That was when the dragon darkened the sky above him.   
  
The creature had been expected, but Cullen still hated to see the thing circling. For the moment, it landed on a tower. Watching something in the center of the keep, before firing a bolt of red energy. It moved, after only what Cullen guessed was the Inquisitor. The beast followed alongside the fortress, picking at the targets that moved along the wall.  
  
The Commander got the man to a healer and bolted like a man possessed for the Main Bailey. He was ushered in before he reached his destination into the main courtyard that contained the rift. The Wardens, who had stopped fighting the Inquisition, stood guard with his soldiers, ready to dispatch the demons still pouring through the gate.   
  
Scout Jim was the first to blubber in his direction, “Ah Commander the, uhhh Inquisitor.”  
  
“Maker help me! If you stutter one more time!” In this smallest moment of annoyance, this headache returned at full strength.   
  
“She was running after Erimond and the dragon. They, they uh fell off the battlements.” Jim tried his best.   
  
The cry of the dragon reminded Cullen that it was not yet over. The dragon dived down but was interrupted by a rock thrown from the trebuchets. The beast cried out, for the moment distracted by an injury it had to attend.  Giving his armies time to prepare and plan for the beast.  
  
“Then find the bodies!”  
  
“No, no use,” Cole was at Cullen's side, causing the Commander to jump, “distant and far. But not quiet, not dead. It's hard to feel them; I think they are in there.” The boy pointed to the large rift in the courtyard. “Only she can close it. We have to wait. She has to be okay.”  
  
Cullen wasn't sure if that made him feel better, or if Cole was trying to make himself feel better. The boy disappeared in his true fashion. Cullen surveyed the courtyard, grunting as a Tevinter Magister was noisily resisting his bonds.  
  
“The Elder One will save me!” Erimond cried, “He will crush you all like ants!”  
  
The two soldiers as his sides shoved the Magister to the ground in front of Cullen.  
  
“Commander! We found him where the building had crumbled, what do you want us to do with him?”  
  
Cullen eyed the man, putting the face to the details he had heard. A blood mage, and enslaved to Corypheus. Cullen wanted to end the man where he kneeled. It would be easier. It was a long way to Skyhold, but he deserved to be judged. Or at least interrogated for answers, if she was dead. But the Templar in him begged for blood and didn't want this abomination left breathing.   
  
“Your Inquisition lies crushed on the ground beneath Adamant; you are all finished. The Elder One-”  
  
The mage's yowling halted by Cullen slugging the Magister across the face. But Erimond was still persistent, spitting out the blood in his mouth.  
  
“You will know the truth! I am not afraid of you! My glory is eternal!” Erimond spat.  
  
The Commander drew his sword, placing the sharp tip against the Magister's throat drawing a trickle of blood. The Tevinter man shut his mouth for a brief moment, the second he began to vocalize again Cullen pushed the tip in deeper.  
  
“Dear Commander, I know this isn't my place. But I think you should leave that man's fate up to the Inquisitor,” Vivienne chimed in softly.  
  
“If she isn't dead,” Cullen spoke quietly. This wasn't like him, losing his control so easily.  
  
“Don't fret Commander, taking it out on this worm would mean nothing either way,” Vivienne was trying to get the Commander to see reason.  
  
Cullen raised his weapon, bring the pommel hard against Erimond's skull. Ending another rant in mid-sentence as his body fell limp the ground, at least his voice would not add to his headache.   
  
“Captain, see that this man in detained, somewhere that he cannot be heard. After that, report to me. I'll head back to the siege weapons. I want a report the second anything changes.” His orders were a bit counterproductive, but the soldier could figure it out without needing to ask more questions. Cullen needed somewhere private to tuck himself away.   
  
It wasn't professional, or the quality of a good leader to be falling apart during a siege in this manner. He questioned if this was grief or the bite of withdrawals making his condition decline so rapidly. His trip back out the fortress was short and curt; his temper grew more belligerent as each soldier tip-toed around him carefully. Leading to the eventual climax of a banner carrier dropping his banner directly in the Commander's path and on his toes. It took everything in him to not scream at the man, so instead Cullen marched into a random room within the keep. Forgetting to shut the door.  
  
The room had a single desk and lounger. Raiding the desk he found paper, a quill, and ink. Given this opportunity to not be lazy he began to pen a letter detailing the attack-  
  
 _ ~~Dear Leliana and Josephine~~_  
  
No, that was too informal.  
  
 ~~ _Advisers,_~~  
  
 _Leliana and Josephine_  
  
That would have to do; his handwriting was already rough his usually neat letters jumped out of line: but he had to keep writing.   
  
_The Siege has gone well. We have lost far fewer men than we had expected. The mages were mostly an unfortunate loss, with few left that are not under the control of Corypheus. The rest of the Grey Wardens stopped resisting us once it had been revealed that they were betrayed by Magister Erimond. The Inquisitor_  
  
Cullen's hand was now shaking violently, tremors pulsing through his arm. The next wave shook his entire being as he was forced to grip the desk to remain upright. His teeth clenched tightly, fighting the waves of pain that sapped his energy. Knees wobbled under his weight until the man was forced to his knees, pressing his sweat soaked forehead against the desk. How long he remained there was a blur, until Scout Jim had found him.  
  
“Commander! The Inquisitor, she came through the rift!” The scout's chest was heaving, and his voice was light and out of breath.  
  
Jim's eyes borrowed into the back of the Commander's head, quite unsure if he was allowed to be seeing the Commander in such a prone position. He stepped closer. “Commander?”  
  
Cullen's amber eyes snapped open, forcing himself too quickly to his feet. A staggered step, and a refusal of help later the man was on a mission. He moved more slowly than he liked to admit, allotting himself breaks as the pressing danger had cleared. The fortress had gone silent, and the dragon had last been seen flying off into the distance.   
  
The Commander made it to the courtyard just as the senior officers of the Inquisition's armies, and the Grey Warden's bartered with another. Hawke whispered softly with Varric, but Stroud was not to be seen. Guinevere sat on a step, looking just as refreshed as she had at the beginning of the battle. Her words were spoken markedly brighter than he had seen them before- even from this distance as she chatted with Cole.  Cassandra seemed a little off put while Solas turned his back to the Inquisitor. Bull teased Dorian, and Sera was likely off causing mischief. Blackwall was content to lean against a stone wall.  
  
Vivienne was the first to approach the Commander, “You look awful darling! Can I do anything for you?”  
  
Cullen shook his head. Avoiding further interaction with the Enchanter by moving around her. Guinevere's head craned to look at him, her lips turning into a big smile. In a motion he did not expect, or brace for- the mage came running for him. Squealing as she threw her arms around his neck. Cullen hid his groan, tenderly patting the mage's back.  
  
“Cullen! I'm not chosen by Andraste! Isn't that the best news!” Guinevere's volume was not contained as he had wanted. Neither did she let him go. It was a cruel irony that he could not enjoy such a carefree and happy gesture, under most normal circumstances he would have wanted this.  
  
“I'm happy for you?” But his words came out forcibly.  
  
The mage released him, backing away and gripping her opposite arm. Stumbling on her words awkwardly. “The Divine saved me. The mark came from an orb. The Grey Wardens will also help us, well as far as they can.”  
  
\---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---  
  
Guin watched the Commander's eyes glaze over, flinching with each inflection of her words. This was certainly very awkward- she had been wrong to hug him. Cullen took too long to speak, his eyes dusting the crowd to find a particular face.  
  
“Where is Stroud?”  
  
“He had to stay behind, the demon had us cornered,” her voice cracked.   
  
The Commander nodded, displaying only a soft frown. “Good work, Inquisitor.”  
  
The Commander turned away, stalking back to whatever duties he had to attend.  
  
Varric chuckled at her elbow, appearing from out of nowhere.  
  
“What did I do?” It was a rhetorical question.  
  
“I don't know, Freckles. Curly is a strange man.”  
  
Guin sighed softly.  
  
“You should maybe tell him, Kid.”  
  
“Tell him what?” 'Kid' meant it was time for a fatherly lecture.   
  
“Feelings. How you enjoy spending time with him. Or you could just grab his ass. Whatever makes you happy.”   
  
“Feelings,” Guinevere did her best to mock the dwarf.  
  
“Mock all you like Inquisitor. Cullen, like most men, is oblivious to most attempts at flirting.”  
  
“The Inquisitor certainly does not flirt!”  
  
“Oh, I misspoke! I meant spending every night for damn near a month 'reading' to the Commander. “  
  
“That was purely fr-”  
  
“You detest doing one thing for too long. Though why you chose the Commander still baffles me. He must orgasm with a frown.”   
  
Varric left her with a shake of his arm. Leaving the Inquisitor to figure out her own thoughts, the dwarf had been through enough that day. Seeing the fade had been upsetting, even worse was having to listen to Solas go on about the fade. Not that Guin hadn't pushed the matter, only stopping in her questions because of the sigh Cassandra had issued. Solas was her next target; she had many more questions to ask him. Hoping that it would prove cathartic.   
  
\---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---  
  
A week of travel had passed along quickly. The remaining men were quite happy, often singing or roaring as they marched. Even if the Commander did offer them a dirty look for acting so brashly. The injured remained at Griffon Wing Keep until they could travel, the siege equipment was being moved by a separate group of men, who would later be met by the men that healed from lighter injuries.   
  
The reading had not continued as it had previously. The Commander found excuses to cancel the reading, and the one time he could not bare to tell her no- she had fallen asleep in his cot.   
  
He grew more agitated, all the scouts and officers drew straws to even bring him the most important of messages. Any sour news was bartered for with favors; Scout Jim currently had men doing all of his other duties for the rest of the march. He had even secured a horse for the remainder of the march to Skyhold. Guinevere's companions avoided him when possible. Guinevere was the soul least subjected to his wrath, and even that grew difficult to maintain.  
  
The mage found herself pacing outside his tent, anxious about the state of the Commander. His mood was unpredictable. Also gearing up for another rejection had her on the fence about even entering his tent. Falling asleep was likely the last straw.   
  
Guinevere paused at the tent flap, gripping the book tightly. A deep breath and she took the plunge.  
  
Cullen's eyes were instantly on her. But he said nothing, inviting her in with a bob of his head.  
  
Guinevere pulled a smile, “I promise not to fall asleep this time if- well if you want me to read. We could probably finish it tonight. Or in the next few nights at most.”  
  
Cullen looked at her for a long minute, finally pulling himself upright. “Yes, it would be good to finish this.” His words were short, as every syllable was followed by pain.   
  
Guin began without hesitation fearing he would stop her at any time. But she was subdued, simply sitting on his cot and reading from the pages. Eyes were flittering every few moments to watch the Commander. Was now a good time? Dare she confess what she only claimed as a mild infatuation? The lump in her throat hardened causing her to stumble over her words. Requiring her to refocus her efforts on the print before her.  Cullen's eyebrows raised, flinching in the effort. Guinevere paused for a moment, prereading the lines to come.  
  
Hartagnan's lover (well, one of his conquests) drank the poisoned wine.  
  
Already she felt the tears prickle at her eyes. Cullen sighed loudly a prompt that usually meant for her to read aloud, and not to herself. Brown eyebrows knitted together as Guinevere struggled through the words. Another sigh had her looking at Cullen again; his face contorted in pain.   
  
“Are you alright?”   
  
Cullen thumped a closed fist against the desk then extended his fingers to scrape at the wood. Guinevere took the first step to his desk, closing the book as she stood. Cullen shook his head, a hand urging her to stay back.  
  
“Your voice, this is. Just annoying.” Cullen said between gritted teeth.   
  
“Annoying?” Guinevere dared to press.   
  
Cullen brought down his fist hard on the table, jarring the bottles left on the desk. “I can't do this anymore.”  
  
She faltered mouth wide open in the words that not fill it. Any response failed to come, the book she clung to tightly in her arms. Finally, her mouth responded, digging her teeth into her bottom lips. Eyes watering with much larger tears. The Commander kept his eyes down, unable to summon the energy to do anything- yet alone apologize.  
  
“You could have just told me. There was no reason to be so rude.” Harsh words to cover a vulnerable underbelly.   
  
With that, the mage retreated. Well, retreated for dramatic flair- the Inquisitor did have an important matter to discuss after all. With a small huff and steadying of her nerves, she popped back into the tent. The Commander was busy rubbing his head and didn't notice that his guest had returned.  
  
“I will be leaving in the morning with my companions for Val Royeaux. I will see you back at Skyhold.”  
  
Her final exit was filled with all the necessary pomp, even huffing loudly, so the Commander knew her state of mind. 


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the whole Guinevere not discovering she had her won big room is a throw back to my first playthrough of not discovering it until quite a bit later in the game.

“Lady Trevelyan! I did not expect you for another couple of weeks!” Josie yawned, stretching up and out of her seat.  
  
“The Commander didn't- Nevermind. What are you doing awake?” Guin copied the yawn Josephine had produced; her eyes felt heavy, but she felt too restless to sleep. The mage carried a quarter ways eaten apple, pleased that her treat had been left at her bedside.  
  
Josephine offered an equally tired smile, “Works never stops; I must have lost track of the time.”  
  
Completely contrary to her usual demeanor, the Antivan's stomach rumbled albeit softly. Guinevere grinned softly.  
  
“Do you care to grab a bite with me? I brought some of those cakes back from Val Royeaux.”  
  
Josie's face brightened, “Oh, dear Inquisitor! I would be delighted!”  
  
Guinevere grinned again, threading her arm between Josephine's.   
  
“How has Skyhold been without all of  us?”  
  
“Dreadfully quiet, we missed having the noise people moving around. Nobody wanted to visit while the Inquisitor and Commander were away!”   
  
Guin laughed, “And the tower? What is going on with that? Did the Circles return while I was away?”  
  
Josie shot the red-head a curious look, “You signed the paperwork.”  
  
Guinevere stopped walking, “What did I do?” A tired mind mortified with the decision she may have accidentally signed into some law. Leave it to Thedas to let her do such a stupid thing.  
  
“It's just a mage tower, Guin. Cullen's been taking care of most of the details.” Josie pet Guinevere's arm soothingly. Noticing the awkward chest scratching ritual she did after each mention of the Commander.   
  
“Ah, yes. I shouldn't have signed anything without reading it,” she fully admitted to it.  
  
“We all know you don't do well with paperwork; perhaps this is a good lesson.” Josephine earned Guinevere's tongue prodded out in her direction. “Read everything before you sign anything.”  
  
“Yes, Mother.”  
  
“If I were your mother you would know better,” easily retorted.  
  
“Josie, I missed you.” Guinevere rested her head briefly on the woman's shoulder.   
  
The mage unlinked their arms as they made their way up the narrow stairway. The library was completely silent at this time of night, all members of the Keep were asleep. Even the Ravens dosed quietly. It was pleasant and unnerving at the same time. Guinevere, like Josie, enjoyed the bustle of Skyhold.  
  
A raven cawed, both of them jumped. Giggling together at their excitable nerves.  
  
With a hearty shove of two doors, they were in Guinevere's small room. Packets and parcels were still strewn about the small space.   
  
“Excuse the mess; I haven't had time to organize anything.”  
  
Guinevere moved to evacuate the bed, the only piece of furniture save a set of drawers. Josie sat, sighing at the state of her quarters. After a few more moments of rustling packages, the Inquisitor drew out a ribbon covered box. As soon as it was on the bed, Josie could feel the cold emanating from the box. Guinevere plopped down on the bed behind it, removing the lid to reveal pristine looking cakes. Josie selected a golden cake with white frosting, and a red berry on top.  
  
“You must have one with me! Especially after all your efforts to keep them fresh.”   
  
“You know I don't care for sweets Josie, but for you.” The mage selected a chocolate cake, frosted in brown and trickled with white chocolate. Guinevere took a bite to be polite but quickly found herself sinking her teeth back into the apple.   
  
The two ate silently for a time, engulfed in their preferred treats. But startled again when the door creaked open, the curious Spymaster eyeing the two. “Josie! Inquisitor.”   
  
Josie smiled through the cake she was thoroughly experiencing, leaving it to Guinevere to invite in the Spymaster.  
  
“Please, come in! Join us for a cake, if you wish.”  
  
At first, Leliana seemed taken back by the obvious token of friendship. Guinevere had not been rude, but neither had the mage offered out friendship. But an invitation to fresh Orlesian cakes was more than she could pass up, taking up a spot beside Josie.  
  
“I hope they have one of the red cakes; they usually leave it in the second layer,” Leliana spoke as she lifted the divider between the layers. A folded paper fluttered to the ground.  
  
First, Guinevere dove for the paper, but the much less tired and dexterous Leliana caught the paper first. Now intrigued at what the Inquisitor had tried to hide, the Spymaster read the folded piece of paper.  Her face contorted while she read the paper, gathering up more questions to ask.  
  
“Just butter and sugar? What kind of cookie is this?” Leliana questioned Guinevere.  
  
The mage rubbed beneath her throat, avoiding direct eye contact.  
  
“Cullen likes those cookies!” Josie spat out tiny pieces of cake with her words, “Is there something you need to tell us?”  
  
Guinevere shook her head.  
  
Leliana joined in, “Oh, I know she is lying.”  
  
The mage swatted at the piece of paper Leliana had stolen from her grasp, ripping the paper as Leliana had not prepared herself to let it go.  
  
“I got the recipe from the Baker in Val Royeaux. It-it doesn't matter.” Guinevere felt the color drain from her face. It had been foolish.  
  
“How sweet,” Leliana cooed.  
  
“It's really not, it was a stupid idea, and now it doesn't mean anything.” Huffing as Leliana gave her the pieces of the recipe.  
  
Josie and Leliana looked at each other.   
  
“What did our charming Commander do?” Leliana asked Josie wasn't wanting to be the one to pry, but she was just as curious.   
  
“Nothing.”  
  
“It doesn't look like nothing. There you go doing it again!” Josie motioned to Guinevere's fingers again gracing her chest.  
  
“Look, it just went horribly was all,” Guin admitted.  
  
“Bad how? Now we have to know Guinevere.”  
  
“He told me I was annoying. That's it.”  
  
“He wouldn't!” Josie exclaimed, thinking this a scandal.  
  
“Cullen did, so believe it.”  
  
“What happened?” Leliana pushed.  
  
“I pushed him. I made him listen to me read, he finally got mad on our way home.” Flinching in the embarrassing memory of her story.   
  
“But that is so romantic! You must have-”  
  
“I didn't misinterpret anything, Leliana. Can we please talk about something else, I already feel foolish enough.” Guinevere pleaded, garnering enough pity for Leliana to stop looking at her like a specimen under glass. Josie spoke up.  
  
“In other news, we were going to present you with your new room when you returned- but as you arrived early- I hope I can alone,” Cullen was in on the ploy to suggest Guinevere an updated room, being the first one to mention the mage's lack of space, but his withdrawals had other plans, “convince you to move into the master bedroom behind the throne.”  
  
“I'm fine with this room,” it was an honest enough answer, it was larger than the room she had back in the circle. Guinevere knew the room from her adventures in poking around the keep, but the size was somewhat daunting.  
  
“You hardly have any room! AND every servant complains about the effort it takes to get a basin in here for you,” Josie paused, but was not finished, “it is hardly fitting of our Inquisitor to remain in the guest quarters. It simply looks dreadful- implying we cannot care for our own.”  
  
“It does have room to keep a bath in a closet, so you could enjoy a bath whenever you please,” Leliana added.  
  
“It would be nice to have room to bathe more often,” Guinevere proffered softly.  
  
It wouldn't take much to convince her. Especially with the guilt Josephine piled on top. The two smiled, pleased that this took much less work that anticipated.  
  
“Can we see the room now?”  
  
\---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---  
  
The day the troops returned was chaotic, but with the order from Josephine and Guin's help they held a small welcoming party for the returning soldiers. It wasn't more than a basic assortment of cookies, and punch, but it was enough to make the men smile. Both received confessions of love but were ignored on account of the soldiers being weary. The hot-headed Commander was also quick to spoil their fun, barking out orders to any soldier unlucky enough to get in his way.  
  
Cullen didn't look Guinevere in the eye and did all he could to avoid her. Instead directing his attention on a soldier who dared speak too loudly about admiring the beauty of the two woman serving the refreshments.  
  
“If you have enough energy to talk, get to unloading the supplies! The tents do not move themselves!”  
  
Cassandra watched him with a scowl from a distance, perturbed in the way the man rolled off the barked command. Guinevere caught this, excusing herself from the scattering mass of soldiers.  
  
“Is there a bug in your punch?” Guin's attempt at humor came off a little dry.   
  
“Did you see him yell at that woman?”  
  
“Yes, it is a bit hard not to hear the Commander's bark.” The second attempt went worse than the first try; the barking had everyone on edge.  
  
“He yells at you, and now this!” Cassandra deflected her concerns into anger.   
  
“We don't know what happened on the way here,” trying to soothe the Seeker out of brash action.  
  
Cassandra made a disgusted noise, bolting from her spot as the Commander returned to berating another soldier. Guinevere even found it odd that he was acting this way, sure the man was surly... but not whatever this way. Maybe Hawke had been kind to Cullen in her description of the man while he was in Kirkwall, it certainly matched the tales of the mages from Kirkwall. Was he this scary and brutish man after all?  
  
“Commander Cullen!” Cassandra's voice rang out over the courtyard.  
  
With a half-snear Cullen looked at the Seeker. Ambers eyes settled on Guinevere for a fraction of a second; her head bowed submissively.  
  
“What are you doing?” Continued the Seeker.  
  
“My _job_ ,” Cullen said with a wave of his arms.  
  
“By berating a soldier?”   
  
The courtyard went silent. All eyes on Cassandra, who dared to argue with the Commander.  
  
“I was-”  
  
“You are out of line!” Cassandra boldly interrupted, “Go and rest! I can direct the men until you are well.”  
  
“I can-”  
  
“Commander, go. I order it.”  
  
Both stood locked in place, but Cassandra one over the Commander. He retreated to his tower without another word, the courtyard still silent.  
  
“Come one, men and women there are enough cookies for seconds!” Guinevere gave the all clear, releasing the soldiers from an awkward silence.   
  
Guinevere approached Cassandra again. “Foolish man.”  
  
\---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---  
  
The Commander spent the next two days in relative seclusion; Cassandra had taken up the full mantel of Cullen's responsibilities. Guinevere had been busy as well- repairing her own relationship with Delilah. Not that it was difficult to patch things over with her friend, they both suffered impulsiveness caused by their emotions. It was relaxing to feel normal next to Delilah again. But Guin quite couldn't get the Commander out of her head either, seeing the book on her new desk made her feel guilty.  
  
Many times she had considered finishing it. But every time she tried it felt wrong. Maybe Cullen wouldn't feel so strongly, and at least one of them could have closure. Besides, it was his book. His signature was claiming it as such on the inside of the front cover.  
  
The mage spent much time pacing the length of the bridge that lead to his office. Gathering up all the courage necessary to speak to him. Guinevere didn't want to and would rather run, but a small part of her wanted to see him. Wanted to see if he would say he was sorry, she wanted to go back. A small friendship with him would be enough. Guin would be content with just that.  
  
She pushed the wooden door openly quietly, and slowly as possible. Within half of the doorway being open, she could already tell the Commander was not in his tower. A small woman remained, immediately directing the mage to Cassandra. She had the chance to leave the book on his desk but dared to dream the Commander might reconcile.   
  
Now quite deflated, she searched for the Seeker. It seemed to be fated that she found them easily, Cullen's voice rose over the cackling blacksmith's forge. The door being open helped the sound carry over a distance.  
  
Guinevere wouldn't admit to eavesdropping, but she did. Cassandra believed Cullen should continue his duties while Cullen argued against it. The conversation became painful, so the mage pressed on the latch interrupting anything she would later regret hearing. Cullen's face was soft – a welcomed change- but his amber eyes left her's quickly.  
  
“Forgive me,” a pleading apology.  
  
“And people say I am stubborn. This is ridiculous.” Cassandra retorted after the retreating Commander. “Cullen told you that he is no longer taking lyrium?”  
  
“Yes, and I respect his decision,” Guinevere answered cautiously.  
  
Cassandra's arms were removed from their crossed stance, “As do I. Not that he is willing to listen.  
  
Guin let out a soft chuckle.  
  
“Cullen has asked that I recommend a replacement for him. I refused. It's not necessary. Besides, it would destroy him. He's come so far.”  
  
“Is there anything we can do to change his mind?” Sticking to a question that was not purely from her emotions. She didn't want the Commander to leave, as selfish as that could be.  
  
Cassandra shook her head, “If anyone could, it's you. Mages make their suffering known, but Templars never have. They are bound to the Order, mind and soul, with someone always holding their lyrium leash. Cullen has a chance to break that leash, to prove to himself- and anyone who would follow suit- that it's possible.”  
  
Cassandra pulled in a breath before continuing, “He can do this. I knew that when we met in Kirkwall. Talk to him. Decide if now is the time.”   
  
The Seeker turned to walk away, showing that she would not hear of Guinevere arguing with her. One stubborn person at a time was enough. She trusted Guinevere to know what was best.   
  
Though, Guinevere took her time in approaching the Commander's tower. She walked the short path but paused at the door from where Solas spent his waking hours. The elf said nothing but watched on with the mildest of curiosity. Feeling foolish Guinevere decided on the long way around, under the condition of making herself talk to Cullen. The journey was all too quick, and turning back was not an option as the side door was propped open. Pressing the book to her chest, her head popped into the room.  
  
At the same time, a box of glass and lyrium missed her head by a hair's width. Yelping she dove into the corner of the wall and bookcase, the book clattered against the floor. _You're annoying Guinevere. This is what you get for being annoying._  
  
“Maker's Breath! I didn't hear you enter. I-” His words ended before they could become more pathetic.   
  
It took a long second for Guinevere to feel her body respond again, stepping cautiously out from behind the bookcase. Cullen's head was hanging and shaking.  
  
“Forgive me.” He pleaded.  
  
"So long as you weren't aiming at me. I'm sure the box had it coming,” but the attempt at humor left a bitter taste. It tainted the air, even if it was meant to make the Commander feel better. Guinevere had hoped he wouldn't feel so horrible if she played it off as nothing.   
  
“I swear I didn't know you were-” Cullen tried to explain himself, his words falling short with the collapse of his knees. Luckily the man caught himself on the corner of his desk. Groaning in the use of strength.  
  
“I never meant for this to interfere.” Shooing her away from helping him stand.  
  
“Are you going to be okay?”  
  
“Yes...I don't know.” His head shook. “You asked what happened at Fereldan's Circle. It was taken over by abominations. The Templars -my friends- were slaughtered.” He began by speaking to her, his hands asking for her to listen and understand. The mentions of his friends caused him to turn to his slit of a window. His back faced her, unsure if the mage would understand him. The lattice shadow of his window portraying the prison he resided in.   
  
“I was tortured. They tried to break my mind, and I- How can you be the same person after that? Still, I wanted to serve. They sent me to Kirkwall. I trusted my Knight-Commander, and for what? Her fear of mages ended in madness.” His actions became more animated. Hands striking out in the anger he tried to store away. “Kirkwall's circle fell. Innocent people died in the streets. Can't you see why I want nothing to do with that life?”  
  
Guinevere moved out of her stance reserved for Templars as they lectured mages. Taking two steps to his desk, “Of course, I can. I-”  
  
“Don't! You should be questioning what I've done.” Cullen approached her; Guinevere straightened back to attention, “I thought this would be better- that I would regain some control over my life. But these thoughts won't leave me...” Almost as soon as he was within range, he moved again. Pacing before her.   
  
“How many lives depend on our success? I swore myself to this cause...I will _not_ give less to the Inquisition than I did the Chantry. I should be taking it! I should be taking it.” Accenting his last sentence by slamming his fist against the bookshelf. More books joining the Three Chevaliers.   
  
The small hair's on her neck raised, folding her arms to protect her chest. “This doesn't have to be about the Inquisition. Is this what you want?”  
  
Defeated, Cullen let out a long sigh, “No.”  
  
His fist released, arm dropped to his side. Guinevere braved his wrath by moving in closer.   
  
“But...these memories have haunted me- if they become worse, if I cannot endure this...” Amber eyes sad, and angry at the same moment.   
  
'You can.”  
  
He considered her briefly, the barest hint of a smile permitted itself to display. Guinevere swore she could sing.   
  
“All right,” Cullen affirmed.   
  
The mage smiled at him, turning to gather up the fallen books. The Commander watched silently and remained so even as she left.


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm getting there, I am getting there.
> 
> Some more NSFW content.

“Guiinevere!” Dorian sang.  
  
“Dooriaaannie~”  
  
Dorian paused, huffing dramatically. He was not amused with the game Guinevere tried to play.  
  
“Guinevere, can I please be taken seriously? I might not ask you out for a drink after all!”  
  
“Is that a threat?” Guinevere replies playfully.  
  
“Well, yes! Who wouldn't want to drink with me?”  
  
Guinevere laughed, “We do have an occasion, after dealing with that dreadful Mother Giselle.”  
  
“And so soon after meeting with my dreadful father! What salacious gossip will we have to endure after that!”  
  
“Well, is Bull supplying Qunari spirits?”  
  
Dorian grinned widely, “The rumors would no longer be rumors is we allow ourselves to slip that far!”  
  
“True- though I am terribly busy tonight.”  
  
Dorian contemplated something, “Well, late is fine with me. Unless you have a date.”  
  
“I can only wish it was a date, but it a fete with some noble from somewheres land.” Waving her hand in the admission of her lack of memory for the details. It was just another person to say nice things to, and to flirt with. If she even remembered that this visitor was single or taken, she could compliment the partner's dress if they were.  
  
“Late it is. But how late?”  
  
Guinevere arched an eyebrow at her friend. Usually a drink did not involve this much cajoling. “I don't know Dorian; tonight really isn't a good time. I've already told Delilah no.”  
  
Dorian huffed again, “Don't make me ask Guinevere,” he struggled with his word choice, “I need a friend tonight.” Rather than a begging, or pleading expression Dorian looked slightly annoyed.  
  
“Is this something we should discuss now?”  
  
Despite her best attempt, she could not hide the cheek behind her words. Dorian frowned deeper, words again escaping his lips. Guinevere grew more suspicious but did not dare to ask. She could find out what the man was planning later, for now, she had another luncheon to attend with Josephine and some merchant guild.  
  
“Just be there,” Dorian said grumpily.  
  
“I'll see you tonight Dorian, just do not get angry with me if I arrive just before dawn!” Guinevere added cordially, excusing herself from the man.  
  
\---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---  
  
The party that evening had ended up canceled, as the Lord's horse had went lame. It would take at least another day to arrive, and another after that to feel properly rested. Or so the man had lamented in his long letter. It spared no detail and was lavishly filled with apologies and regrets, spiced with whining over his situation. But her night was not completely saved; it only meant an extra hour of time. The merchant's guild was more than happy with supplying members for a party- extending their visit by a day.  
  
Guinevere found herself walking up the steps to her large room during her extra hour of free time. Would she nap? Or perhaps she could send for Delilah, if she was not too busy. Or the time could be spent relieving some of her personal tensions. Traveling allowed for exactly none of that, and now that she had a room that a neighbor wouldn't be able to walk in on her... She could finally masturbate in the daylight hours. It would be an exquisite first.    
  
With extra pep in her step, she jogged up the last flight of stairs to her room. But rounding the corner revealed an unwelcome surprise- Delilah.  
  
“Del! What are you doing here and so...”  
  
“Unclothed? Would you prefer naked? I had no idea you would own such a silk!” Delilah's chocolate eyes devoured the Inquisitor.  
  
She was the picture of temptation. Her glowing pale body only hidden by a sheer layer of cream colored silk. Her dusky nipples were too dark to be shielded by the silk robe. Her body stretched across Guinevere's bed- a tome just out of reach. Ebony hair was thrown over her shoulder to afford the viewer -Guinevere- a complete picture. The rise and fall of her generous curves forcing Guinevere to voyeuristically roam Delilah's body.  
  
“Josie got it for me. What- How long have you been here? I just knew I had free time.” Knuckles rubbing against her exposed sternum.  
  
“It's Josie now? My you are getting comfortable... or is this just your sort of awkwardness?” Delilah chided softly, reaching for the book before her. “I was just waiting until you were done with meeting important people. I didn't know you would be finished this early.”  
  
“Ah, I see.” Guinevere was unsure of what course of action to take now. Delilah being in her bed ruined her preferred plan, perhaps working on some letters and missives that she was assigned would be the prudent thing to do. At least it would keep her from staring at her scantily clad friend.  
  
“If you returned at all. I know you have little time, especially for old friends.” Delilah hardly looked up from the book.  
  
“I don't mean to be gone so often, being the 'Inquisitor' is a lot of work.” Guinevere did mean it; it was an old comfort she had missed dearly.  
  
“And new babbles are more appealing,” Delilah cooed.  
  
“Del! What's the matter?”  
  
“Nothing,” she could give Dorian a run for his money in theatrics.  
  
“So you're going to keep sighing? Until I work it out of you, or until you eventually start an argument?” Guinevere folded her arms, planting herself on the top of the desk. Fingers tapping the lip of the bureau.  
  
“You know me too well, no wonder that Dorian drives a more enticing deal.” Delilah gave away her grievance, flipping the page with pronounced flare.  
  
“Del-” Guin couldn't lie, it would be obvious, “It is because I agreed to drink with Dorian? I might not even make it.”  
  
Delilah let out a heavy sigh, “I just feel so alone here.”  
  
“You've never needed me before, and you obviously have luck when it comes to finding partners.” Motioning toward her state of undress.  
  
“Guinevere, you can be so...niave sometimes.” Delilah slid from the bed, effortlessly gliding, “I want you.”  
  
“You...What?”  
  
“It has always been you.”  
  
“Del.”  
  
“Most ardently, and honestl-”  
  
“Delilah!” she screeched. The name reverberating off the stone walls, filling each corner of the room.  
  
The red head panicked under reacting with such violence. A free hand tore through tangled locks, a lacking punishment for such untoward behavior. If it had been any sooner, if things had just been different. Months, even just days before it would have been different.  
  
“Isn’t this what you wanted?” the black haired vixen pleaded. “You cannot stop caring for me now, haven’t we seen enough together? Bled enough together?”  
  
“That isn’t- If this had been.” The loss for words was agonizing. Coupled with the desire to take action, to tangle herself so deeply with her first love. To be held, and to know that she might never again be let go.  
  
“What’s changed but time?”  
  
“Everything.”  
  
“Or a Templar?” she challenged, “Or your power? What happened to you, Guin? Have you forgotten what being in a circle is like? Or have you just moved on to a more gilded cage? I never knew you to be someone who liked to have your freedom withheld.”  
  
“Del, this is different.”  
  
“How?” Delilah stalked closer, lacing her hands painfully into the Inquisitor’s hips. Pulling herself flush against her, lips tickling at the back of an ear. Guinevere releasing a plaintive moan.”They are only using you. If you do not die, they will surely see you caged again.”

  
Delilah’s lips swept down her friend’s neck, leaving a wake of prickling skin.  
  
“No, no. They care for me. I also cannot idly sit by as the world falls into ruin!” Guinevere whined, shivering as Delilah's hands moved south. Diving into the open slit of her shirt, the warm hand kneading a puckering nipple.  
  
“Bah! Care for you. I know your weakness for anyone that will listen to you. Kell, and now some other pretty Templar. Do you not think they would use him, to control you? Your misplaced devotion makes you a tool.”  
  
Guinevere remained silent, refusing to acknowledge the words. Her mouth opening to let out a small gasp. Delilah grinned in her conquest, leaving the breast to clutch at Guin's core. Pushing the leather and her fingers into the folds of her cunt. Delilah's palm worked slow circles over the clit, drawing out a shudder from the mage beneath her hand. Her breath leaving warm tendrils that made Guinevere melt faster, bucking into the hand that pleased her.  
  
“How can you imagine, with a name like yours you are not further sought for advantage? That was the only reason Linnea let you-”  
  
Guinevere violently shoved Delilah away, only feeling the smallest sliver of pity as her friend smacked into the pole of her bed.  
  
“So, you used me, too?” Guinevere stammered, “For all you wish to warn about being used- you did it yourself.”  
  
“I couldn’t have ever left you, but things would have been harder.”  
  
“But possible!”  
  
“Guinevere, that isn’t. It was just _advantageous_.”  
  
“Then why did you not let me in on it!,” Guinevere pleaded.  
  
“You would have objected to many things involved.”  
  
“Like what? I wanted my freedom.”  
  
“You could never kill for it,” Delilah admitted.  
  
“You didn’t-”  
  
“I did.”  
  
“Delilah- please, please take it back.”  
  
“I can't, I killed her. I killed her so I- we- could be free.”  
  
“She would have let you go.”  
  
“It was necessary!”  
  
“Necessary how? Killing her got the Templars involved, how many lives did they take? Don't you feel responsible for that?”

“I don't.”  
  
“You are what is wrong with some mages, I cannot let you get away with this.”  
  
“You wouldn't dare!”  
  
“Your motive may have been warranted, but it is still murder,” Guinevere shook, angry eyes threatened to engulf Delilah were she stood. “I would. Lydia...they all deserve-”  
  
Delilah sprung forward, smacking Guinevere across the right side of her face. A sharp ring ripping open the delicate flesh, digging the deepest into her soft lip.  
  
“Get out," her voice cold, "out of Skyhold, out of Thedas would be wise."  
  
“Guin, I am so-”  
  
“Get out,” repeating her words with more ice, “If I see you again, I cannot let you go.”  
  
\---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---  
  
Needless to say, Guinevere did not feel up to meeting with the Merchant's Guild. Josephine had almost fainted from the ugly wound Guinevere sported. The Inquisitor offered no answer and refused any offer to heal the wound. It wasn't deep, so she held no fears of it scarring. What she needed was to empty her head, and not to be bothered. She wrestled deeply with her choice of words and actions regarding Delilah.  
  
It was rash to threaten her.  
  
Perhaps she would return? Delilah knew how impulsive Guinevere's temper could be.  
  
It was a huge fight, but once Delilah realized nobody was hunting her, then she would return. Guinevere had no intention of doing so, at least not now.  Forgiveness would come later; it was for the best Delilah left.  
  
A couple of hours of riding a horse around cleared her head that far. A few more hours spent in the private alcove and books in the basement of Skyhold would clear the rest of her doubts away. Drinking with Dorian would clear the last of her worries away. It was a good night to drink until she dropped.  
  
An hour after dark, Guinevere stalked into the Herald's Rest. Encountering the second sight to make her reconsider what plans to follow through. Dorian was not alone; Cullen sat opposite from him. Cullen was the first to spot her grinning, and shrugging his shoulders at the same time. Dorian noticed the Commander looking away, bringing his attention to the Inquisitor.  
  
“Guinevere!”  
  
With such a loud call across the tavern, she had no choice to approach the two. Her hand rubbed her check, attempting to shield them from the scratch along her cheek.  
  
“Am I interrupting? I-I am early.”  
  
“Inquisitor, your face!” Cullen interrupted, startling to his and feet hitting his knee against the table.    
  
“What did you do? Fought another dragon?”  
  
Guinevere sneered playfully at Dorian and backed away from the Commander.  
  
“I see I am interrupting; I can come back later.” Guin offered again.  
  
“No, please sit. The Commander and I were just catching up.” Dorian motioned toward the third chair.  Guinevere didn't take it; her gaze turned to Cullen.  
  
“I insist," croaked Cullen.  
  
With a gulp, the mage sat. Her eyes wandered to the side Dorian occupied, begging for him to release her.  
  
“So, you look awful. What happened?” Dorian was the first to pry, the Commander snapped to attention having the same question.  
  
“Nothing much, I had an accident. Today turned out to be much more taxing than anticipated.”  
  
“More wine will solve that!” Plunking the bottle in her space, “Drink.”

  
Guinevere wasn't one to be asked twice, taking a long swig of the bitter drink. Hissing as the burn hit coated her throat.  
  
“I don't even recall you looking so exhausted- even when you took that dragon on,” Dorian stated smugly.  
  
The female spit out her drink, glaring at the Tevene man.  
  
“Head on?” Cullen _spoke_.  
  
“Yes! Bull, Sera and I didn't believe that she could take on the dragon by herself. We were certainly wrong.” The smug bastard looked rightly proud.  
  
“By. Your. Self?” Cullen's tone bordered on lecturing.  
  
Guinevere shrank under his scrutinizing glare, “Everyone was on guard if something went wrong. I knew what I was doing.”  
  
“Well, she got a bit greedy before the beast went down,” Dorian leaned over the table, “She got too bold, and the creature almost took off her arm!”  
  
“Dorian!” the female groaned, “What happens in Crestwood stays in Crestwood.”  
  
“No, Inquisitor, I must hear the rest of this exciting tale.” Cullen leaned over the table, encouraging Dorian further.  
  
“We thought we might lose our beloved leader when we saw her staff break in half! I also almost lost my head because Cassandra found us, but that isn't important to the story... She then used the broken staff to stab the dragon- killing it!” Dorian finished by throwing his arms into the air.  
  
“See, I was fine. It wasn't very tough.”  
  
“But I haven't even told him the best part!”  
  
“Dorian!” chided Guinevere.  
  
Cullen waited with a smirk on his face.  
  
“She collapsed!”  
  
“That's not fair!”  
  
“Well, you did. It wasn't even done dying yet!”  
  
“I didn't read that in the report.”  
  
“Well, Dorian, Bull, Sera, Cassandra, and I were sworn to secrecy.” Her eyes were shooting daggers at the chuckling Tevinter. “It was a sacred pact.”  
  
“Or you begging us not to tell a certain Commander, among others.”  
  
“May the Maker's ball sack never grace your head!”  
  
Dorian pulled the most ostentatious expression of hurt he could muster.

  
Cullen went silent his mind somewhere between wanting to lecture the mage, or laughing heartily at the story. The implication of the story sickened him, thinking that he could ever lose his precious Inquisitor. His face turning to a soft frown in his dark thoughts.  
  
Guinevere cleared her throat softly, panicking unjustly at the Templar's frown. She had spoke too loudly, and swore with too much animation. It must have come off terribly annoying, the Commander was just too nice to say anything negative in front of Dorian. Dorian had even said too much, begging them to not tell Cullen must have seemed terribly trite.  
  
“Excuse me, I appreciate that you are trying to cheer me up... but I must retire for the night. I am not in the spirit to celebrate tonight.”  
  
Dorian softened, allowing Guin to leave in peace. Cullen was unable to say anything.  
  
Glad to be freed without a fuss, Guinevere cantered until she reached the cool night air. Slumping against the walls of the Herald's Rest with a loud sigh. Head craning to look at the stars above her. She should have brought the bottle of wine with her. Now it was too late and she wasn't about to bother a servant to fetch her a bottle either.  
  
The clattering and talking from the Tavern was comforting from this safe distance. The tangy smell of burning wood filled her nostrils, her chest releasing another pent up breath of air. Her eyes searched the quiet wall of the keep, following the stairs to the face of the Mage's Tower. Why did he do that? I don't understand. It was an upsetting subject to continue thinking about her eyes wandering further around the courtyard. It was serene.  
  
Her orbs eventually wandered back to the tower; a single light grew flickering in the window. Watching the flame dance, then it grew higher and brighter.  
  
“Fire! FIRE!” Guinevere yelled as loudly as she could.  
  
The tavern evacuated quickly, the Commander issued the few soldier in the Herald's Rest to action. It was the start of a few long hours. Guinevere pushed aside her grief and awkwardness surrounding the Commander, focused on the blaze. Eventually, she was no longer needed, covered in soot and weary she placed herself in front of the Spymaster.  
  
“Lelianna, I need to talk to you.”  
\---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---  
  
It was now a few minutes passed sunrise before the Inquisitor returned to her room. Unburdened, and burdened all in the same confusing round. She smelled of ash and sweat, but couldn't image bathing at this late...early hour. Stripping herself of all clothing leaving it lazily on the floor. Pattering gingerly into her bed, she collapsed.  
  
_Andraste's Tits._  
  
Another surprise.  
  
Another loud groan in protest until the book was fished out from underneath her back.  
  
Guinevere shook her head and blinked rapidly to clear the sleep threatening her vision. A leather bound book, with the title in gold letters: The Three Chevaliers. Her laugh was half-deranged; a first leaf escaped the binding of the pages. More followed as the mage clumsily flipped to the page she had left off at. A folded paper fluttered to her bare chest.  
  
_Guinevere,_  
  
_Forgive me._  
  
_Would you mind speaking to me tonight?_  
  
_I have so many things I should say about the things I should not have said._  
  
_Sincerely,_  
  
_Cullen_


	19. Chapter 19

The Inquisitor never made good on the note Cullen had left for her. Cullen couldn't blame her.  
  
Guinevere had approached him alone once but to tragedy. He honestly didn't know what he did, but the mage stood before him and began to cry.  Before he could offer a comforting word, much less ask what the matter was she had excused herself. It bothered him enough to ask Dorian what was going on with her, but Dorian was also sore about the subject. Guinevere wasn't being forthright with him either. Cassandra knew nothing, and Sera was of no help babbling on about a servant who was cleaning the Mage tower the night it caught fire.   
  
The fire was another mystery, Leliana knew something but refused to answer any questions. At every turn- every offer of help the Spymaster assured him that she had it under control. That she was looking into the fire, and once she knew the entire story, all secrets would come to light. Further advising that it was being kept quiet so it would not negatively impact the reputation of key individuals with unnecessary rumors, that would lead to unnecessary consequences. Speaking to her made Cullen more confused thus upset about the situation.  
  
To make matters odder was the sudden departure of Guinevere from Skyhold. They were but weeks from needing to arrive at the Winter's Palace. Plans needed to be finalized, strategies to be discussed and the Inquisitor fled. Save for Cassandra, Cole, and Vivienne the rest of her companions had been left behind. Furthering Dorian's chagrin against Guinevere, and causing Skyhold to feel generally uneasy with her companions left without their unifying leader.  
  
The sudden need to re-home the mages living in the tower caused strain. Before her departure, she had insisted that the mages (many of which were old colleges from Ostwick) stay in her room for the time being. The large bedroom was condensed and over thrown into a barrack, with beds and drawers filling every available amount of space. Guinevere stubbornly refused any other room for her private use in the mean time, claiming 'it felt like old times' to sleep in a room with so many others. Once the Inquisitor left, fights broke out among the mages. Which lead to the Templars getting antsy- Skyhold was a war waiting to happen.  
  
The injured also arrived from Adamant, finally. Luckily the healers were not overly taxed as the worst victim of the fire had been a single child. One that would be scarred for life, but he was safe. Cullen had witnessed the boy receiving a visit from his worried father figure. It was a breath of fresh life to see the boy argue about being kept in bed. He, at least, was ready to return to his regularly scheduled play.  
  
The Inquisitor's travels to Caer Owin was expected to be a short lived journey. It was a personal matter for Cassandra- she had wanted to know what had befallen the rest of the Seekers. By her letters, she had answers but not any that she wanted. With their return, Cassandra had taken Guinevere's place of being the melancholy one. Guinevere seemed better.   
  
Cullen found himself surprised by a note from the Inquisitor.   
  
_Cullen,_  
  
 _Now, it is my turn to be forgiven._  
  
 _I know you will be too busy for dinner, and so will I. Would you be amenable to spending our dinner together, not having dinner?_  
  
 _-Guinevere_  
  
Cullen chuckled at the note, caressing the paper. The bottom edge of the paper was soggy, and judging by the smell of the parchment she must have written this in the bath. Bidding the messenger to remain while he penned his reply, accepting the appointment. The few hours he had left were spent making sure that the scouts would mostly be off at dinner. He wouldn't admit it...but an hour of that was spent making sure he was presentable. Each curl whipped into submission, and his stubble was trimmed again just to make sure not one hair was passed a suitable length. It was a foolish idea, but he ran a brush over his teeth again being sure that his mouth did not have an unpleasant smell. For good measure, a small glass of sweet wine was drowned down for his nerves.  
  
Unable to take his own pacing he awaited the Inquisitor outside, pretending not to notice her approach from a distance. The breeze carried her scent, jasmine as he had come to find. Cullen was glad he had decided to venture outside, the breeze was cool and calming.   
  
“I,” turning from his position overlooking the valley below, only to find his first word had failed him, “wanted to thank you...when you had come to see me...if there's anything...” He gave up with a sharp exhale practiced words did little to help him now.  
  
Not when she stood she ethereally before him. Her loose locks of red hair caught the sun from behind them edging her frame in a soft gold. Pale skin radiant from the aftermath of a hot bath. The Inquisitor was dressed more freely than he had ever witnessed her, the shoulders and top of her arms exposed a map of freckled skin. What he could only assume was a white tunic rested low beneath her collarbone, tied by the daintiest string. The tunic covered shapely breasts to only dive beneath a grey corset, bordered in the modest silver lining. The skirt pulled over from her left side to barely cover her right knee; the red apron only showed a slip of the white fabric underneath. Boots wisely covered her leg below the knee, giving Cullen only the smallest and most tantalizing view of pink skin on her left side when she shifted her leg just right.  
  
Cullen rubbed his neck to interrupt base thoughts, “This sounded much better in my head.”  
  
“I trust you're feeling better?” Her eyes were warm and amused. A small smile was tightening her lips.   
  
“I...yes.”   
  
“Is it always that bad?” Guinevere pressed, cocking her head to the side as she awaited his answer.  
  
“The pain comes and goes. Sometimes I feel as if I am back there... I should not have pushed myself so far that day.” Cullen had to look away, had to stop himself thinking about pulling that slit of fabric apart, pushing the Inquisitor against the stone wall and having his way with her. But she did not belong to him. “Or on the march to Adamant. That was unworthy of me.”  
  
“I also should not have,” Guinevere rubbed at her chest. Cullen took this as the moment to interrupt her.  
  
“No! No. I quite enjoyed our time together. I-I miss it,” Cullen admitted. Feeling his cheeks burn.  
  
Guinevere was silent, letting his words dissipate. Did he overstep?  
  
“I am just glad you're alright.”  
  
“I am,” turning to face over the valley to hide further embarrassment, “I've never told anyone what truly happened at Fereldan's Cirlce. I was... not myself after that. I was angry. For years, that anger blinded me. I'm not proud of the man that made me.”   
  
Cullen shifted his weight back, trying to garner her reaction to his confession praying she would not be disgusted. It sickened him to think how he would not have cared for the woman standing beside him. Magic seemed a flimsy excuse for keeping her at an arm's length, not when she had done nothing to prove she was malicious. Slowly he was starting to see it in other mages, like that burned boy who just wanted to play. He wasn't an abomination...he was just a boy. A boy impatient to play swords with one of his friends- a friend who was not a mage. Just another little boy.  
  
“Now I can put some distance between myself and everything that happened. It's a start,” Cullen continued as she urged him to keep talking.  
  
Never, had he thought, would a sliver of closure be so liberating. A liberation he could never feel without this mage to drag it out of him. He hadn't revealed his trauma in the most healthy way, but it was a start.  
  
“For what it's worth, I like who you are now.”  
  
Modest words caught Cullen in a snag, his face reeling to see if she was lying. She wasn't, as her hand caressed her sternum.    
  
His words were still disbelieving, “Even after...?”  
  
Guinevere closed the gap, her fingers sliding down his metal vambraces to grasp his hand tenderly. Her teeth dug into her bottom lip, quivering softly as her head bowed. “I'm serious.” Blue-green eyes timidly meeting his gaze.  
  
Cullen's face softened, honey eyes melted into softer pools. His throat was heavy, gladly restricting him from gathering up the mage into his arms. She liked him. A mage. She was still sheepish, but Guinevere liked the person who he was. He didn't, but to have someone that saw some good in him. It was entirely inappropriate to think the things he did about her; she was too pure to ruin with his corrupted touches. Slowly withdrawing his hand.   
  
'What about you? You have troubles of your own. How are you holding up?”  
  
Guinevere shifted her weight, appearing unsure of what she wanted to answer. “Honestly, I'm terrified.” Her gaze turned to look over the valley filled with tents, “So many people depend on us. On me. Corypheus is still out there.”  
  
“We've made great strides. Do not doubt yourself -or the Inquisition- just yet.”Cullen knew her confession was not whole with her tick manifesting as she spoke, but now was not the time to push her into an unwanted confession. “If there's anything I can do, you have only to ask.” Saluting, as his fist thumped gently against his breast.  
  
Guinevere paused for a moment too long, alerting Cullen that she was not finished. Instead of running, or prying he faced over the battlements again. Letting the mage come to him first, allowing her the time to ask for whatever she needed. He owed her that.  
  
“I thought we could talk, alone.”  
  
An odd request, as they were currently talking. And were currently alone. He snuck a glance at her, perplexed by her pained expression. He thought better of teasing her for her strange words. Worried by what this could mean, or what she would have to talk to him about. What if he was wrong? What if she had decided that allowing him in the Inquisition was not for the best? It could be one of those; it isn't personal talks.  
  
“Alone? I mean, of course.” Nerves completely over took his intended words.  
  
Guinevere gently smiled, twisting a lock of hair around her fingers as she urged him forward with a swipe of her head. The Inquisitor wanted to move. The bare fingers that caressed his hand reminding him or something simple he had forgotten- he could be touching her skin. If only he would have thought to remove his armor. Now it was too late as she lead him through his office, and surprisingly back out.  
  
Her steps were erratic, moving at a fast pace to suddenly slowing down. Blue-green eyes grazed his face, always gulping. More than once he stopped, almost opening his mouth. But he knew using his words could end poorly. Not when he finally had finally said something right, not when he might lose her again. It was too much.  
  
So he remained, balancing between the possibilities of the words she did not speak. Her face was kept from him, fists clenched tightly then would suddenly release. This was too much, his hand moving to soothe his neck.  
  
“It's a nice day,” Cullen mumbled.  
  
“What?” Guinevere's eyes making sudden contact with his, in her brief moment of confusion her stare softened. Finding some hidden amusement.   
  
“It's...there's something you wished to discuss?”  
  
“Cullen, I,” Guinevere's head shook, backing herself into the stone battlement, “ care for you and-”  
  
The man froze, he didn't mean to look scared maybe even bordering on appalled, but this wasn't- this couldn't be happening. To some other worthy, and better man certainly not someone like him. Someone responsible for the deaths of so many in Kirkwall. Guinevere sighed, her hand returning to her chest.  
  
“What's wrong?” he pleaded with her.  
  
Her head bowed again, showing him respectful submission. Like any other mage would when leashed and berated by a Templar. How she could feel so below him was breaking his heart. This woman cowered below him, and it should have been the other way around. He should be begging; the one ashamed to confess how he felt. Any anger he felt at being led on ebbed away if this had been a circle she could be turned Tranquil... in the best, she would be expected to- No, those were not thoughts he could entertain.  
  
“You left the Templars, but do you trust mages? Could you think of me as anything more?” Culllen safely assumed she was thinking along the same lines; Guinevere didn't want that. Guinevere wanted him. A brave dream for a mage.  
  
“I could. I mean, I do... think of you. And what I might say in this situation.” Pressing his fingers to his forehead, turning his head away from those frightened eyes.  
  
Taking a step away only to be pursued by the Inquisitor.  
  
“What's stopping you?” Guinevere planted herself, convincing herself not to chase him.  
  
“You're the Inquisitor. We're at war. And you.... haven't always seen me in the best light.” That was an understatement, his eyes rolling to implant further that fact.   
  
“And yet I'm still here.” Her head bowed again. Expecting nothing to happen, and giving Cullen an easy out if he wanted it.   
  
Cullen always thought, if presented with this situation, that he would jump at the chance. From the first day he had seen her apple glossed lips, he wanted to kiss that defiant mouth. Now, that he had a shot. He hesitated unsure of himself. A jaded soldier didn't need to smother this vibrant and bright woman. Guinevere had freedom, for the first time in her life. Why was she wasting it on him? A young man, not a Templar, full of energy could show her the things she had missed. Cullen wanted to do those things but had a responsibility to the Inquisition.   
  
Was leaving her emotionally vulnerable the right thing to do either? Guinevere was wise enough to know what she wanted...and if what she wanted was him.  
  
“So you are...it seems too much to ask.” It took much less time to convince his body to gravitate toward her, hands gently guiding her hips. Her smell invaded his sense bringing upon him the most pleasant dizziness; his face enticed to inch in closer to her warm breathe, “But I want to-”  
  
“Commander!”  
  
This would be his luck.  
  
“You wanted a copy of Sister Leliana's report,” the Scout continued speaking as if nothing was happening.  
  
“What?” Cullen's voice thick, and tempering on an explosion. Now Cullen had to restart this all over again as if his nerves had not been enough to stop him the first time. If this man ruined his chance...  
  
“Sister Leliana's report,” Jim spoke matter-of-factly, “You wanted it delivered 'without delay.'”  
  
Cullen glowered over the man, puffing out his chest. Jim only noticed the Inquisitor from her escaped giggle, what Jim interrupted became suddenly clear to the man.   
  
“Or...to your office...right.” Jim backed away, unable to avert his gaze.  
  
Guinevere had already begun her exit, shuffling over two steps. But Cullen wouldn't allow that. Cullen wasn't running, so he would not let her either.   
  
“If you need to-”  
  
Her sentence was not fated to finish. One gloved hand tipped her head back while the other craddled the base of her skull. Lips crashing against her's. Rather than resist she clumisly leaned ino his kiss and body. Inexperienced lips fumbling to keep up with the Commander. That didn't matter to him; he was happy to be tasting her, to be claiming her.   
  
“I'm sorry...that was...um...really nice,” Cullen spoke as he pulled back, allowing her to breathe. Proud in the subtle blush, and smearing of her lip color.  
  
“You don't regret it, do you?”  
  
“No! No. Not at all.”  
  
Cullen would prove it, greedily kissing her again. His mouth worked slower, allowing Guinevere to get a feel for the rhythm of kissing. Her fingers grazed his cheek, urging his hip to press her into the wall. Her lips yielded to his, sending the tingling in his stomach to a whirl. Bold fingers worked into his hair, threading through the golden locks of hair. His arms were content to fold around her waist keeping her securely against him, where he felt she belonged. Guinevere's lips divided to taste the sweet mix of wine and apples.   
  
Her small body rolled against him, begging for more. Hungrily his left hand slipped under the slit of her dress, fingers gripping and pulling against soft and warm flesh. His mouth claimed her's, his pace became urgent, needy as he adjusted them against the higher shelf of a battlement. The mage's hips buckled against his.   
  
Cullen couldn't continue; Guinevere deserved better.  
  
Slowly his lips stopped, their foreheads resting against each other as they both caught their breaths.  
  
“I'm, I'm sorry about your hair,” Guinevere grinned in her statement. Battling with a stubborn lock that refused to fall back into place.  
  
“Don't be,” grinning in return.   
  
“I should go?” Guinevere questioned.  
  
“I-If you wouldn't mind, would,” Cullen paused feeling guilty for the time he was taking from her.   
  
“Yes, I will.”  
  
“I haven't even asked,” Cullen said with a laugh, pressing his lips against her nose, “can we finish The Three Chevaliers?”  
  
\---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---  
  
“That was sooo depressing!” Guinevere exclaimed, staring into the last blank pages of the volume.  
  
“It's a romance after all,” Cullen drawled from behind his paperwork.   
  
“I thought romance...would be more. Lovey? Happy at least?” Guinevere sighed again, closing the book. Launching from the seat across from the Commander's desk. It was far too late to be still awake, but both of them had wanted to finish the book. She had been yawning through the last few pages; it was only aggravated by the somber tone of the book.   
  
“I think you mistook what a romance entailed.”  
  
“People like this stuff?”  
  
“The Empress was saved from scandal, and Hartagnan was promoted in the end.”  
  
“But the entire story was about friendship, but once everything was accomplished, they all left.”  
  
“With their goal complete they had to move on. They each had their lives to pursue, Portho was married. Aramis became a Hand of The Divine, each fullfiled their own desire in return.”  
  
Guin huffed, morosely inserting the book back into his shelf. “I still don't like it. I think they are less happy moving on separately.”  
  
“You almost sound like Cole.”  
  
Guinevere scrunched up her nose at Cullen. Wordlessly mocking his words, channeling a chuckle from the Commander.   
  
“All for one, and one for all. What rubbish.” Guin muttered, her gaze drifting between Cullen and the door. “It really is late now; I think we both need to go to bed.”  
  
Cullen paused in the middle of rubbing his eyes, “I think you are right.”  
  
Rather than moving to the door, she planted herself in front of his desk. Inching his papers away from his grasp.  
  
“Bed,” Guinevere chided.   
  
The Commander looked up, grinning. Guinevere hesitated, wanting to lean in. But was that too much?   
  
“All right, bed. Inquisitor.” The Commander replied snidely. Making a show of putting down his quill, and capping his ink. Leaving Guinevere plenty of time to reach the door.  
  
“Guinevere?”  
  
“Yes?”   
  
“You could if you would like.”Blushing in what his words suggested.  
  
Guinevere balked at the door, chewing her lip in the now embarrassing decision. Cullen returned his gaze to the table, drawing himself upright without engaging her. What was the harm in doing it? For a first kiss, she was damn pleased. All seemed to be going well, so it couldn't hurt.  
  
With purpose she strode for the man, cupping his cheek to guide his lips down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like the changed dialogue when you finish Perseverance first- I think it fits a mage romance better.


	20. Chapter 20

Leliana and Cullen bickered over the table- another argument about the necessary posturing required at the Winter Palace. Josephine had said her piece and had fallen silent. The Commander argued with the strength of a cornered Lion, unhappy about being forced into attending the ball. He believed a Commander belonged with his troops not entertaining a room full of stuffed shirts. Leliana grew tired of what she perceived to be an attack against Josephine. The Commander would have to attend the ball, and she would have to keep a happy face. Cullen finally gave him with a snarl, his hand snaking to the base of his skull.   
  
Guinevere rested her forearms against the table, bent over the expansive map in exhaustion. It was too early, and she was far too tired to listen to their bickering. The energy required to voice this concern was also sapped, only two more weeks. Only two more; became her mantra. Propping up her arms to slide her face into the haven of her fingers, a futile attempt at relieving the fog that settled over her.  
  
“The Inquisitor and I had one last matter to report-” Leliana waited for Guinevere to perk up before continuing, “If she wishes to discuss the situation.”  
  
“Right,” came the groan from between her fingers, slowly moving upright.  
  
Josephine and Cullen had no reason to expect this 'situation' was going to be dire, so their attention on Guinevere was only mild. To Guinevere, it felt accusing. In her hesitation, those looks turned to concern. Cullen rocked in place, unable to decide if approaching her would be appropriate. While Josephine tried to look less interested in the Inquisitor's secrets. By the mage's lack of will to speak, the air of the room became heavy.  
  
“Inquisitor, I can let them know if you wish,” Leliana prodded.   
  
“No, it's fine Leliana,” Guinevere's hand covered her heart, ready to speak.  
  
“Delilah and I had a falling out,” the subject line garnered a perplexed look from the Commander, causing Guinevere to pause briefly, “the night of the fire, that was. I had my suspicions, knowing how she tends to react violently.  I didn't want her accused publicly without having Leliana investigate the matter further- according to a servant she was spotted in the tower just before the blaze began.”  
  
“Surely you can't assume she did it- there were other mages in the tower. A young boy sleeping in that-” Cullen injected while his defense of her friend was flattering it was also unneeded. A sharp look from Guinevere stopped his words.  
  
“Even if he had started the blaze, he would have woken up long before... before the flames disfigured him.” Guinevere squashed that possibility, “I had also told her to leave hours before the fire. Delilah had no reason to be in Skyhold.”  
  
“Did you alert a guard?” Cullen questioned, “I never heard of it.”  
  
Leliana took the query, “The Inquisitor did, and I had intercepted the report before he could deliver the report to you. I ordered the men to remain silent after the fire so that I could investigate without unnecessary rumors.”  
  
“You are asking my soldiers to keep secrets from me?”  
  
“Andraste's ass, can you save this for later?” Guinevere struck with a stroke of anger.  
  
“Forgive me, Inquisitor...Leliana. For speaking out of turn.” Culled was successfully cowed.  
  
“The reason I-we are bringing this up now is because the servants are beginning to talk. The talking of the servants is leading to more pressing rumors, and situations,” her anger dissipated into shame. Her energy was again drained, forcing her to lean on the table for support.  
  
“What kinds of rumors, and situations?” Josie braved, but her tone was too grating chipper to be entirely shocked by Guinevere's words.  
  
“Delilah...,” Guinevere's voice cracked, “Delilah killed Senior Enchanter Lydia, sparking the rebellion of the Ostwick Circle.”  
  
“I thought the Ostwick Circle disbanded peacefully?” Josie broke the silence.  
  
“That's what the Templars that slaughtered us as we ran would have you believe, so any of us that would have told our stories would be painted as liars- or monsters trying to get pity,” Guinevere hissed. “A mage may have started it, but most of us wanted no part in it. That's why I made her leave if I had known sooner... I would have never let her into Skyhold.”  
  
“I don't see why this in as an issue. Hang what they will say about us,” Cullen dared to interject.   
  
“The scandal alone from the Herald interacting with a criminal,” Josie breathed.  
  
“Especially as some of her conspirators now work for the Ventori. Linnea, Leliana and I confirmed, works directly under Calpernia. The damage it could do, if they implicated me-” Guinevere did not wish to continue with those thoughts. “They could implicate that I am connected with Corypheus. Not just the murder of a Senior Enchanter.”  
  
“Especially with the party as a method to spread such rumors,” Josephine's face was paling.  
  
“To make things worse, if the  rumor that Delilah is a Maleficarum.”  
  
“Inquisitor!?”  
  
“She,” Guinevere sighed, “I must give you some back story. The Ostwick Circle is-was more relaxed in some ways than other circles, and there were often chances to get out of the Circle if you built enough favor... and sometimes a good name helped. But also, the Templars in Ostwick did not want to get caught up in the politics of another nation, even if the Chantry does descend national borders. Many of the phylacteries of local mages were kept in Ostwick, rather than moved elsewhere.   
  
Once we escaped- we were under constant threat of attack from the Templars that could track down any of the mages in our group. We did well enough, but we lost many supplies and lives from these attacks. A rift in the group started to form, those who wanted to leave behind the mages that were native to Ostwick, with easily found phylacteries... and those who were not. I separated with the mages from Ostwick, and Delilah left me for the others.   
  
It wasn't as easy as it sounded... As the few Templars, that helped us wanted to stay with me. They felt they owed us that much. But the others were afraid without the protection the Templars could offer. It never came to blows, but it was tense. The others left for what would eventually be Redcliffe, and we left for the ultimately the Conclave.” Guinevere paused, shaking her head, “She returned to me some time later, complaining about how bloodthirsty that they had become, I never thought to question it. Not until I overheard rumors about what she had done after the Conclave, from the people we rescued from the Avvar.”  
  
“The Avvar did seem convinced that one of the mages had killed one of their men, I never thought to bring it up,” Cullen admitted.  
  
“They usually do not attack groups of mostly women and children either,” Josie added, filling in the blank pages of the story.  
  
“I'm not suggesting that Delilah did become a blood mage,” Guinevere argued, “but many of them didn't return from the initial attack by the Avvar. It could have been anyone desperate enough.”  
  
“I know you don't want to think the worst of your friend, Inquisitor,” Leliana delicately counseled, “but she was the only one to escape and found us in Skyhold.”  
  
“Delilah has always known how to talk her way out of any trouble.” Guinevere ended any further conversation, “It may not be a pressing threat, but I thought you all should know before the story gets warped. But this meeting has lasted long enough- I have a final fitting I must attend.”  
  
Guinevere was the first to stride out of the room.   
  
\---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---  
  
“How did your fitting go?” The Commander asked with a small smirk.  
  
“Well, it fits,” Guinevere drawled, “I'm much more curious to know how yours fits.”  
  
“It is awful and stuffy- the tailor kept insisting that I wear it tighter as to show off my- Anyway. Do not be surprised if it does not last the night.”  
  
“A sight everyone will be praying to see?”  
  
Cullen took the compliment with minimal blushing. “Did you have anything important to see me about?” Watching as the Inquisitor plopped the chair now reserved for her in front of his desk.  
  
“Is this not a good time?”  
  
Cullen's eyes surveyed the woman before him; her cheek flattened against the back of the chair. Usually, he would want to chide her for straddling the chair backward, but couldn't on account of her sunken eyes and the black lines forming under them. Her entire body slouched against the chair, too tired to maintain an upright position.   
  
“No. It is fine, but-,” Cullen cleared this throat, restarting his words, “you look tired. You should rest.”  
  
“Now you too?”  
  
“Me. What?”  
  
“Leliana has already suggested I sleep. Josie refused to let me help her with letters. Now you are brushing me off for the same excuse Josephine did,” Guinevere confessed in a huff.   
  
“Despite what you must think, we do care about you. Your well being included,” gently chided Cullen. Impressed with the ease, he had managed to confess something so...private. Even if it was veiled behind a group.   
  
Guinevere broke into a savory smile, adopting a red tint. “I just want to help, someone.”  
  
“I remember you complaining about my 'boring' work.” Chuckling through the pain in his head with a flinch.  
  
Guinevere shuffled, breaking eye contact. “I don't understand it.”  
  
Her words made the Commander pause; he had never thought to ask her if she had any knowledge of battlefields or strategies. Her failing in chess was noted, but nothing that struck high on his radar. Yes, she played poorly, but he thought it out of short attention span and her desire to let him win the game. The times he discussed tactics at the War Table, or with Rylen had her pegged as the sort that didn't want to try. Her input to the problems was always weak, well if she was managing to pay attention. The glossing over of her eyes edged him into madness, but he had never considered an alternative.  
  
Why would a mage know? Or have the chance to learn?   
  
“Would you like to try?” he asked.  
  
“If you don't mind. I'll try my best to be a good student!” Guinevere exhibited more energy in a single sentence than he had seen her display in the last few days. Her back straightening, before it fell again, “But only if you have the time.”  
  
“Well,” Cullen began, without giving her the chance to protest, “There are several principles to consider when it comes to strategy-”  
  
Guinevere was an attentive student when she could keep from yawning. Patient, too, as Cullen began to create a pile of books for learning literature. The third book had her visibly gulping at the thick tomes suggested for light reading. Cullen grew giddy as the subject spilled from his mouth, and Guinevere watched in awe. Completely content to let him ramble on about the topic of battlefield strategies. He could go on for hours this way- if it were not for the pounding of his head.  
  
“So why would we need to watch the economy of force?” Questioning Guinevere to finally hear if she had picked up anything from his enthusiastic speeches.  
  
“To make sure that unnecessary force is not spent on secondary objectives, so that the mass of the force can be saved for the main objective. Which also promotes a simple plan to avoid misdirection of troops.” Grinning proudly, as she had managed to string along four of the concepts he had discussed.   
  
He could kiss her.  
  
So he did.  
  
Swooping across the table to bring her tender lips to his. Basking in the eager and pleased response when her face nuzzled into his bare and warm hand after the kiss ended. Kissing her was still so new, still so frightening. But here she was, melting into his palm- happy to be kissed by him. Only being kissed by him; none other had managed to take that title.  
  
“I would have learned this from you a long time ago if I knew that was my reward,” the red-head sassed sweetly.  
  
“Is that so?”  
  
“The day you kissed me on the battlements... How long had you wanted to do that?”  
  
Cullen laughed, “Longer than I should admit.”  
  
“ _Good_.”  
  
“Good?”  
  
Guinevere only offered a charming smile, “We should return to our lesson, shouldn't we?”  
  
Cullen knew this game- it was usually his own attempt at changing the subject. The plucky mage knew it too, grinning as mischievously as she did. With a heavy sigh and shake of his head, he moved on to the next part of his small lesson.  
  
On a piece of blank paper, he drew eight boxes: Six of the smaller boxes were drawn in rows across from each other, one set on his side and one on hers. Behind the boxes was a final and larger box. On the long side of the paper he drew lines to represent a river, and the other a forest.   
  
“Using what you have learned, what approach would you take to defeat my army?”  
  
Guinevere stared for a minute at the paper, stopping to yawn loudly.   
  
“I wouldn't want to forge the river to get around to flank your army, getting caught in the forest could be costly. So I would...would,” Guinevere pondered over the page longer, giving Cullen the excuse to rub at his temples.  
  
“I would retreat?”  
  
“Why retreat?” It wasn't the first answer he would use.  
  
“Couldn't I use the confusion to set some of my army in the forest? I would command the men in two of the formations to spread out as they retreated, covering the other men as they slid into the forest. So when the enemy moves to pursue... Wham!” Guinevere slapped the desk hard.  
  
Cullen jumped, and let out a soft groan hardly expecting her volume to increase.  
  
The Inquisitor lost her smile, pulling her arms behind the back of the chair.  
  
“It isn't exactly simple, but a good start. It would give you the advantage of surprise, and allow your soldiers to strike at soft spot.”   
  
“Did I win?” Slowly unraveling her defensive posture.  
  
“Yes, you won.”   
  
Cullen reached across the desk, but to only chastely kiss her forehead. Drawing a soft, complaining sigh from the Herald.  
  
“What would you do?”  
  
“I would-”  
  
His words fell away, a shock in the back of his skull rocketed into his temples. Forcing him to knead his forehead for a semblance of relief. Guinevere retreated completely, hand rubbing nervously as her eyes grew wide. The attack thankfully subsides as quickly as it came, leaving a sharp buzzing behind.  
  
“Can I help you?” The Inquisitor asked softly.  
  
“It's just a headache, nothing to worry over.”  
  
“Yes, it is. If you push yourself, it could just make it worse.”   
  
Cullen scratched the back of his neck before throwing his hand down.   
  
“You shouldn't argue with me; I know I am right.”  
  
He shot Guinevere an incredulous look, a look that took moments to transform into a soft smile at the sleepily yawning female.  
  
“The headache will remain no matter what I do,” approaching his argument from a different angle.   
  
“Don't risk the economy of your force.”  
  
Cullen half chuckled, pulling drawing of the boxes from his desk and depositing it into the bin near his feet.  
  
“You win, Inquisitor.”   
  
“Trust me?”  
  
“Trust you with what?” His words curious as the mage straightened from her seat. Her slim fingers tapping the wood of his desk. Backpedaling as the Herald stood, but she only closed the distance between them. Offering her hand out flat.  
  
“Do you trust me enough to let me touch you.”  
  
“Touch me? Ye-,” gulping Cullen caught on, “With magic?”  
  
“With magic,” she affirmed, rooting herself a step away.  
  
Cullen felt his hair stand on edge, and his muscles tense up all at once. Amber eyes kindled in fear, retreating another step. Guinevere deflated, dropping the offending hand to her side. Yet, he felt more disappointment in himself in watching her retreat inward. Every touch from this woman had the possibility of being imbued with magic. Every caress, each touch of her lips could kill him if she so desired. It was a part of her, inseparable by anything but death... or tranquility. Both would make him lose her- much like continuing his path of mistrusting that magic. If anything were to progress between him and her, he had to accept it.  
  
Maker's breath did he want this woman.  
  
“All right.”  
  
Guinevere's face surfaced from her avoidant gaze. “Really? Well, you'll want to sit.”  
  
“Sit?”  
  
“Well, it has unexpected reactions for different people. I think it would be safer; I couldn't hold you if you fell.”  
  
“Where?”  
  
“Is the floor okay? I'll sit on the chair, and you could sit between my...legs.” The last word accented by a soft yelp.  
  
“Won't this look compromising,” Cullen joked, following her to the chair.  
  
“It was the chair or the bed.”  
  
“Yes, this is a better idea.”  
  
He allowed Guinevere to sit first, her back now rested properly against the chair. He slowly slid between her legs with his back cradled against her thighs. His arms slung backward over her legs, and his head rested against her chest staring up at the mage. Her warm fingers made slow circles on his temples, the pads of her thumbs relieving the persistent throbbing. Guinevere continued this until the Commander completely relaxed in her grip. With a soft warning, the first jab of electric energy seeped into his temple. But quickly any of the pain reduced to a soft tingling, recalling a moan from this throat.  
  
“Where did you learn this?” he murmured.  
  
“Lydia suffered from near daily headaches; she taught me how to soothe them.” Her fingers left his temples to press into his scalp, gently forcing his head down.  
  
“Maker's breathe, this is-” Cullen crooned.  
  
“I've heard it is a popular trick for other things,” her words admitted bashfully.  
  
Cullen chuckled, “Really?”  
  
“I-I wouldn't know; I just heard it.”   
  
Cullen let her words slide into silence, his blush followed soon after. Her rubbing did something wicked to him, stirring out all sorts of sounds that did not belong. But she did not react, continuing in her gentle rubbing and tingling. Warms fingers threading through his hair with the fear she might tangle those golden curls. Her steady breathing an anchor to which he matched his own.  Hardly noticing the change as Guinevere switched to rubbing lazy circles in his scalp. With a soft moan, he pulled both of his arms over one thigh drifting off in her lap.  
  
\---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---  
  
Jim stood frozen in the door, gaping at the scene before him.  
  
The Commander's face nestled against her right thigh, the left thigh supporting his back as he snoozed. One arm looped around her waist, will the other rested atop her knee. Golden hair that was always straight and neatly in place rested in loose curls. The Inquisitor's tired smile watched the man stand speechless in the doorway. Her fingers never stopped their circles.  
  
“Ma'am, I mean Inquisitor! I didn't mean to-” Jim panicked as the sleeping Commander stirred.  
  
Cullen blinked slowly, his head reclining to grace the Inquisitor with a private smile.  
  
Jim was done for.  
  
With surprising fluidity for a man in armour, he rose from the floor. His fingers leaving her knee with gentle caresses. His calm amber eyes regarded him with minimal annoyance. Though Cullen purposely towered over the man. The Inquisitor taking this as an easy exit, leaving him alone with the Commander.   
  
“Your report?”


	21. Chapter 21

“Inky” Words spoken softly, in an attempt to not wake the children.   
  
“INKYYY” Words now sodding the children sleeping in the large stone room. That echoed.  
  
“Sera?”  
  
“Come on! Things to see.”  
  
The chorus of groans from the room echoed Guinevere's thoughts on getting up. Now she would have to remain awake until after the dawn made it's slow appearance. Guin needed much more sleep than this, even going to bed with the children had not sufficed. Her eyes burned like she had walked into a cloud of Drufallo fart, and she _knew_ the rank of a Drufallo fart.   
  
“Sera, I'm going to die,” Guinevere whined.   
  
“No. You'll want to see this. I promise, come on~,” Sera urged, earning a few glares from the adults that stirred from their slumber.   
  
Guinevere turned over in her bed, pulling the covers with her.   
  
“I'll scream and make them really mad. Nothing like the quizzie waking all the kids up,” Sera threatened.  
  
“Just go already!”   
  
Sera and Guin froze as the woman nearest to her seethed at them, her brown eyebrows furrowed very crossly. The woman also very crossly turned her back to the both of them. Convincing Guinevere that she needed to leave with the elf before the entire tower was staring at her. The Herald had already caused them enough problems.   
  
Cautiously Guin picked her way through the beds strewn throughout her tower, pleased to see that the children sharing her large bed had not fully awakened. Once passed the bed, Sera took off in a quick jaunt. The Inquisitor dressed in hardly a gown tripped after the quick elf, following her through the main hall, to the rotunda and out the door leading to the Commander's office and quarters.  
  
Guinevere only protested once Sera began to climb the scaffolding of the tower. Urging Guinevere over the wailing wind to join her.   
  
“Sera, what could possibly be up there that I need to see?”  
  
“Things.You should see it before you buy it, right?” Sera giggling at her private joke.   
  
“Sera,” Guin cried, holding her robe from billowing away.  
  
“It's safe. I did it before.”  
  
“I'm not dressed for this,” Guinevere bemoaned, rooted to the spot.  
  
Sera clung comfortably to the bricks, frowning at the Herald. “Come on. Or I'll tell him you saw.”  
  
“Saw what?”  
  
“Things, now hurry up. I can't be here all day. It only takes them a few minutes to find their knickers.”  
  
The Inquisitor moved, never before had she considered this bridge to the Commander's office to be of considerable height, but now it just daunting. The threat was working, as a tired mind worked over how bad her poorly dressed state would look. Especially on the Commander's bridge. Especially during the very early hours of the morning. She couldn't win this battle.  
  
Her hands shakily grasped the bricks she was instructed to grab, her bare feet sliding against the small lips of rock that were meant to hold her. Her arms wanted to give out as she hoisted herself completely free from the bridge. Swearing to herself to not look down, she blindly followed the surprising supportive words of Sera up the face of the tower. At the top, Sera pulled her over the roof, just as the first soldier had resumed a regular patrol of the battlements.   
  
Guinevere laid flat against the roof fearing that it would break under their weight. Guin came to realize her complete folly in following Sera up the tower. What if Cullen heard them? Saw them? What excuse could she have for this? Nothing would make sense, or remove her from scrutiny.  
  
Lastly, how would she get down? Her muscles already grew stiff, unhappy with her lack of sleep and overexertion. Guinevere Trevelyan was not a climber.  
  
“Inky, “ Sera whispered loudly, “Over here.”  
  
Guinevere rose gingerly, sliding beside the blonde elf.   
  
Cullen was stark naked, eyes closed, and palming his full erection.  
  
\---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---  
  
 _Guinevere laid out on the floor of the tent, a rounded breast spilling out the center and sides of her vest. Red hair splayed out in a perfect circle, like a halo around her head. She held the book aloft, reading it in the awkward position that allowed him to see every inch of her beautiful body. He got to watch as the blush rose up her cheeks. Her words were faltering over suggestive lines._  
  
 _“His fingers tugged with abandon on the silk ties of her corset, the red panel of fabric falling to reveal perfect breasts. Hartagnan's lips pressed against the pulse of Milady's velvet neck fingers, kneading-” His Lady stopped, her legs squeezing together to quell the heat between them, “rolling, her taut nipples between his ring and index finger. Milady released a low and mewling cry.”_  
  
 _Guinevere inhaled with a sharp shiver, the outline of pert nipples outlining in sync with the attention Milady received.  Finished with such smutty material, she held the book to her chest. Keeping her turquoise eyes shut until her slim frame was released from lust driven possession._  
  
 _Cullen stalked around the desk just loudly enough that she could hear him approach. The mage continued to lay still as he stood over her hips, a single eye peeking open as he sunk to his knees. Guinevere offered a soft, buy playful smile. Beautiful wide eyes rising to meet the man that had her straddled._  
  
 _Plucking the book from her arms, he tossed it aside with a hungry grin. His blue-green gems darkened, claiming his mouth in a desperate kiss. Gone was the inexperience and fumbling, replaced by urgent desire and need. Her tongue prodded his mouth to part, tasting him in the greediest of ways. Teeth pulling his bottom lip as she released his mouth. Making him beg for more._  
  
 _Unlike_ Hartagnan _, Cullen was a patient man as he guided Guinevere back to the floor. His lips finding the pulse located at the base of her skull, raking his mouth gently down the shallow curve of her skin. Mouth opening to nip at the sensitive crook of her neck, fingers toying with the small buttons adorning her leather vest. Satisfied with the claiming mark left on her neck, his kisses trailed to the exposed center of her chest. His other hand expediting the process of removing the garment from the Herald._  
  
 _Finally, pale skin laid bare before him, dusky nipple pert and ready to be taken. But he was not finished admiring the beauty of the body before him, the freckles on her skin begging to be mapped and gazed at like stars in the night sky. The Inquisitor waited for him with her bottom lips puckered beneath pearly teeth._  
  
 _“Maker's breath,” he swore._  
  
 _"Take me," her velvety voice crooned._  
  
 _Carefully taking a mound in hand as he bent to again feast at her neck. Drawing a hungry moan from the Inquisitor. Fingers rolled the soft mound into his palm, his lips trailing for the exposed nipple. Once his lips made its destination, he circled the mound of darker flesh with his tongue, pebbling the brown flesh. Guinevere bucked under him, urging him forward. Now invited to partake, he took her nipple in his mouth. Suckling gently to earn another moan from the Herald._  
  
 _Without warning he switched to the opposite breast, kneading the one he left behind with a little more force._  
  
 _“Cullen- Cullen please,” her voice whined, “I want more.”_  
  
 _He would give Guinevere what she so pleasured, sliding his body and hands down her torso. Thumbs hooked under grey leather pants while his mouth worked at unlacing her stubborn breeches. The smell of her aroused sex making him salivate. Making him far too impatient to remove the breeches passed her knees. Working his arousal free from his breeches, placing the erect member against her quim._  
  
\---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---  
  
Sera snorted as Cullen's pace increased, running his fingers along the thick vein on the underside of his manhood.   
  
Guinevere wouldn't admit she was watching, but she did. It was mostly a matter of curiosity than a desire to fulfill. But she would be lying to admit that there was no effect on her. It was drastically more uncomfortable to be in the cold wind with her nether regions pulsating.  
  
“See, I told you.”  
  
Sera laughed harder and louder as Guinevere tore herself from the hole that allowed her to see him in such a compromising position. The ferocity of her red cheeks only aggravated by the whiteness that overcame her face.   
  
“Who's up there!” Came the very angry, and very loud voice of Commander Cullen.   
  
Sera snorted and laughed harder, drawing the attention of every guard on duty within the area. Luckily Guinevere was low enough not to be spotted, unlike the fully upright Sera.  
  
“I'll make a distraction, and you run for it, yeah?” Giggling as she launched herself over the ledge, leading the patrolling men in a chase away from the Inquisitor.  
  
Guinevere did not know where to run, hearing the Commander rummaging around below her did not sate her panic. Taking the first strategy in mind led her down the other side of the tower, clinging desperately to the outside wall of Skyhold. The mage struggled to make the next lips so she could slip around the opposite edge of the tower. Her legs faltered, seizing up painfully.   
  
 Cullen's door flew open and slammed shut behind him, leaving Guinevere quite trapped. She grasped futilely for a ledge that was out of reach, her tired body unwilling to lend her enough strength to do anything but cling to the wall.   
  
Slowly Guin began to sob, then bawled against the coarse brick.   
  
Silently a large hat poked out over the ledge, blue eyes regarding her curiously.  
  
“You're not supposed to be there.”  
  
“Cole!” she choked between a sob. “Help me, I'm stuck.”  
  
“I would think so. The wall doesn't want you there either.”  
  
Guinevere could only sigh at the strange boy, reaching for his pale hand. Cole was surprisingly strong able to pull Guinevere back onto the wooden roof. The boy disappeared only to reappear back on the ramparts.   
  
“I'll get The Iron Bull. He can help you down; he can keep you quiet.”  
  
Guin liked having Cole around, especially in moments like this. She would have to remember to hug him next time she caught him. True to his words, Bull came looking for her. Carefully as she could manage she jumped into the arms of Qunari.  
  
“Boss.”  
  
“Bull.”  
  
“Don't worry ma'am; your secret is safe with me.”  
  
The Qunari earned himself an exuberant peck on the cheek.  
  
\---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---  
  
“There you are.”  
  
“Were you waiting for me?” Guin asked in absolute shock. Did he know about her misadventures from that morning? Who was the tattler? She didn't expect it to be either of those three.  
  
“Yes...I mean no.” Cullen grew nervous as Guinevere's shaken energy reached him.  
  
“Which is it?” Relaxing as the man at least pretended to know nothing of her involvement in this morning's shenanigans.   
  
“There's something I wanted to ask you. We have some dealings in Fereldan; I was hoping you might accompany me. When you can spare the time, of course.”  
  
“Is something wrong?” Usually, when requested to head somewhere personal, there was something for her to beat up. He hadn't mentioned anything pressing in his personal life.  
  
“What? No! I-I would rather explain there if you wish to go.” Cullen replied nervously.  
  
“When do you want to leave? After Halamshiral?”  
  
“No, two days from now?”  
  
“Is there enough time?”  
  
Cullen crossed his arms, “If you do not want to go, you have but to say so.”  
  
Guinevere shook her head, dragging her heavy feet to his desk, “No, I just worry how poor Josie will feel about us leaving so close to the ball.”  
  
“I have discussed it with her, and we will catch up with everyone else from where we are going.”  
  
“You've planned this out,” Guinevere cooed softly, bracing her hands against his desk to allow herself to rest.  
  
“Uh-yes. Are you all right?”  
  
“Depends, would you harbor a fugitive?”  
  
“If, if only that fugitive happens to be a very attractive woman,” the Commander's words were immediately regretted, forcing him to soothe himself with his most famous habit.  
  
A runaway tear slid down her cheek.  
  
“Guinevere, I-Inquisitor- I did not mean-”  
  
“No, no, no. I'm happy, really- I'm just so tired, Andraste's tits, I don't know why I am crying,” speaking between more tears, “please excuse me.”  
  
Her first step away from the support of the desk sent her crumbling if it were not for the arms of the Commander. Honeyed eyes searching her face in concern.  
  
“I don't think you are well enough to go anywhere, forget about our business in Fereldan.”  
  
“No, no! I want to go, really,” she pleaded, “If I could just rest, in here. I won't be a bother.”  
  
“You could use my bed if you would like.”  
  
Guinevere's face turned pale, her head shaking violently. “I couldn't, no. I shouldn't impose that far.”  
  
“I don't see the sense in your being elsewhere.”  
  
“Cullen, I can't,” shaking her head once again as she broke away from his grip. Rounding his desk to observe the spot she had thought up earlier for her hiding place. Making the decision for Cullen as she slid to the floor behind his desk, leaving ample from for Cullen if he decided to work behind his desk.  
  
The golden haired Commander soon after followed suit with a soft sigh, pulling a chair along with him. Placing himself beside the Inquisitor- but just after encircling his furry coat around her shoulders. The mage took no time to bring her knees into her chest, resting her head against the desk with a soft breath. Unable to yet divert his attention to work his gloved fingers threaded through her hair drawing out a soft flinch from the woman. Cullen's hand froze, almost forgetting.   
  
“Sorry,” he murmured working his hand loose from the vambrace and leather.  
  
His hand eagerly return to Guinevere, brushing an ivory cheek with the back of his finger.  
  
“So, I hear we have been having late night adventures lately.”  
  
“Are you angry with me?” Guinevere was too exhausted to keep up pretenses...the world was slowly slipping all around her.  
  
“What reason would I have for that? Unless you want to stroll Skyhold in nothing but your robe,” offering a faint chuckle, “but then, I still couldn't be angry. You do not belong to me.”  
  
“Oh, that,” Guinevere retorted with a yawn. She would not rather not think of her alternative to peeping on the Commander nocturnal activities. The healer had suggested that her sleepwalking was simply caused by stress, and nothing more.   
  
Cullen looked about ready to speak, his words ended by the metallic creak of the wooden door. His focus directed entirely to the door. And the striking woman sauntering into his office. Vivienne could make the Commander nervous without thinking a word.  
  
“Commander, I was wondering if you could direct me to our dear Inquisitor.”  
  
Cullen was quick with his words, avoiding even the hint of a side glance at the frozen mage beside him, “She headed out that door just minutes ago.” Waving his gloved hand toward the door that would lead to the battlements above the gate, and eventually leading into the tavern.  
  
The rhythmic clicking of the First Enchanter's heels stalked forward- shit she knew. Guinevere forced herself passed his knee, sliding into the small hollow space beneath the desk. The warmth of her body tense against a knee he could not budge without giving her up. Vivienne looked over his desk, unable to find what she sought.  
  
“If you could let the dear know I am looking for her, when she is feeling up to it. Of course.” The Enchanter spoke with a wave of her hand.  
  
“I will, Madam de Fer,” speaking with only a gulp to show for his nerves.  
  
“Thank you, Commander,” her eyes flickered to the exact spot Guinevere hid.   
  
The Enchanter left the room as quickly as she entered, the desk releasing a relieved sigh.   
  
“This is what you meant by fugitive,” speaking at the bureau.  
  
“I know Vivienne means the best,” her voice grew quiet, “she was friends with Lydia, too. I just can't talk about it right now. I'm worried about what she will think of me.”  
  
Cullen felt something wet against his thigh, where the Inquisitor's head had decided to rest.   
  
“I think she knows you didn't have anything to do with it. She wouldn't have let you go. If she thought you had.”  
  
“Thank you, Cullen.” Her face nuzzled into his thigh, her body releasing the tension pent up inside.   
  
Within minutes, Guinevere's soft breathing assured him that she had finally fallen asleep. The Inquisitor slept soundly, even through the door slamming open and shut several times. Cullen never let her face go through more than a few minutes without the gentle touch of his calloused hand.


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why does everything turn to smut!

Guinevere slept soundly in the Commander's arms, his warmth pressed against her back providing all the warmth she needed to nod off comfortably. His lack of armour also made hid less dangerous to rest against. Cullen had insisted they ride a single horse on their journey into Fereldan. Most of the first day had been spent guessing at where they were traveling. It seemed to Guinevere they were headed to Redcliffe, But the moment that had boarded a ferry passed Edgehall, all bets were off- causing Guinevere to pester Cullen further.  
  
He never gave up his intentions.   
  
Returned to land Guinevere gave up her questions, deciding that it was easier to sleep. Cullen was more than happy to allow her to do so, the mage was seeming more lively with every hour she spent away from Skyhold, even if she had spent most of their travels sleeping. Every hour awake with her made up for that time easily- but he had not expected the questions once they had departed on the ferry. Every new location was filled with such wonder for the mage.  
  
Guinevere roused slowly, blinking away the sleep in her eyes. “Where are we?” sleepily testing to see if she could get an answer.  
  
“Honnleath.”  
  
“Somewhere important?” asked with budding excitement.  
  
“We are here,” he whispered in her ear.   
  
A slow, but tired grin spread across her face, but diminished as her thoughts did not come to a conclusive end, “Should I know Honnleath?”  
  
“No- I doubt anyone would know of the middle of nowhere town where a boy dreamed of becoming a Templar.”  
  
Guin turned her head to face him, frowning, “You should have started with that.”  
  
“I was having too much fun making you wonder,” placing his lips against her crinkled brow.  
  
Guinevere lasted the short ride left over into the village without another question., Cullen lead the horse to the solitary inn in town. He bid Guinevere to remain outside; they wouldn't be there long. Dusk was already settling, and he didn't wish to wander out too late. Guinevere was fine with remaining outside, taking in the view of the town around her.  
  
It was completely adorned in bright lights and flowers, preparing for the arrival of spring. Many milled about the circular square of town setting up stands with sweet smelling pastries and a few last decorations for the night. In the center of the village was a large pole, with ribbons streaming down the pole they fluttered in the slight breeze brightly colored fabric adding the exciting colors throughout the square. The women wore crowns of flowers while aa few of the men wore wristlets with flowers. Most of the men, which made up most of the population, did not wear these wristlets.   
  
Guin hardly noticed until she was touched that Cullen had returned to her side. Taking her hand to help her off the horse, she accepted but did not let go of his hand. His eyes regarded her curiously, the mage released his fingers. Threading her hands securely behind her back, as the Commander released the horse into the care of the Stable boy.   
  
“One last stop before we are done, and we better hurry,” murmured Cullen softly. Brushing the fingers held behind her back, now ready to take her hand. The Inquisitor smiled brightly, trailing behind Cullen as he cut through the crowd.   
  
“There used to be a Golem there,” He mumbled as they passed closer to the pole and the large grassy area in the center of town.   
  
They approached a small eatery at the far end of town; the stylized cottage was darkened, but a flickering light betrayed that there was still someone attending the shop.   
  
 "I hope she won't mind us begging for food so close to closing time."  
  
"Who is this Cullen?"  
  
"She's my aunt, though we all called her Nan. Honnleath was abandoned during the Blight, but I heard she returned once the Blight was over. Most did."  
  
"Why didn't your family return?"  
  
"After our parents died, Mia decided that they were done with Honnleath."  
  
"I'm sorry, I didn't know," squeezing his fingers lightly in apology.  
  
"No. It is quite alright, it happened many years ago. I believe they are in a happier place now," Cullen spoke with a small smile.  
  
Without another word, Cullen pushed through the door accompanied by a jingle. Releasing Guinevere's grip to fold his arms, adorning his face with a wide smile.  
  
"Sorry dears, we are-," the plump and grey lady turned, her face instantly lit, "Cullen Stanton Rutherford in the flesh!"  
  
Nan scuttled up to her nephew, enveloping the larger man in a tight embrace, kissing each cheek. "Maker be praised! And in the flesh! And what do we have to owe this to?"  
  
Nan's amber eyes finally focused on the woman quietly shadowed by Cullen's frame. "And who is this? She better be treating you well, or I will whip her into shape. I will guarantee you that!" Her words more bark than bite.  
  
Cullen chuckled nervously, "Nan, this is Guinevere. Guinevere this is Nan."  
  
Guinevere offered out her hand but was instead pulled into a similarly tight embrace. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Nan."  
  
"Oooh, it always warms my heart to hear you young ones call me that, not enough of the young dears here," Nan's subject line quickly changed, "Cullen, what is this lovely young lady to you?"  
  
"She's my," Cullen made a nervous line of eye contact to Guin, but she didn't answer instead turning her direct attention on him curious to hear his answer: for her own reasons. Cullen's fingers graced the hair at the base of his skull, "boss."  
  
Nan stared hard for a moment her focus presented in the same cross look Cullen's did, then softened. "Andraste preserve me child! You let me threaten her worship!" Whacking Cullen soundly across his arm. "Please forgive me dear!"  
  
"No, no. It is quite alright," Guinevere soothed with a smile.  
  
"If I had realized sooner," but the dramatics of Nan's statement and the hand across her brow were directed at Cullen.  
  
"Well, you were lucky compared to most things that have threatened her." Earning himself another slap.  
  
"Well, I am sure you did not come to visit me, what did you need dears? I do have some leftover cookies I can pilfer from the festival tonight."  
  
"Oh right, is Wintersend tonight! If you wouldn't mind, but we do need some dinner to go. We have somewhere to be."   
  
"Of course, of course! It will be little else but sandwiches if you want one of Nan's meals you best come to the festival tonight!" Busying herself behind the counter, before disappearing behind another door to noisily raid the pantries.  
  
“Are we here for the festival?” Guinevere gandered.  
  
“No. It is nothing special.”  
  
“Will we have time to go?”  
  
“It would be comparing to the festivals Ostwick would throw.”  
  
He wasn't trying to actively dispel her wish to go; he just thought it would be boring for her. He didn't know how late his plan would go either. Guin was still in the dark about what Cullen had planned for them.   
  
“I wouldn't know, I have never been.”  
  
“Never?”  
  
“I never,” Guinevere lowered her voice, “got the right favors.”  
  
Cullen's eyes widened in the implication, rubbing the back of his head. But his apology was cut short by Nan returning from the back with a loaded basket on her arm.   
  
“How much do I owe you?” Cullen offered.  
  
“Nothing,” Nan insisted, “well nothing other than your word that you will write your sister more often! Mia will be so jealous that I got to see you.” Nan twittered.   
  
Both of them receiving a kiss on the cheek before they were allowed to leave.   
  
Cullen with one arm hefting the basket, the other took Guinevere's hand once they had left the shop. Guinevere decided not to question him further, and he was content not to speak. Leading them further out of the town until Guinevere could hear water running, her curiosity piqued. Cullen let her go, finding a flat space at the edge of the river to deposit the basket. Guinevere searched the area curiously, placing a fist step against the dock. She could have imagined a better scene that the foggy night, but it was serene. Even it the water beneath her threatened to swallow her.  
  
“Where are we?” Now, she was not expecting an answer, blindly following the Commander to the edge of the dock.  
  
“You walk into danger every day. I wanted to take you away from that. If only for a moment.” His words still not an answer. “I grew up not far from here. This place was always quiet.” Cullen leaned comfortably against the pole, folding his arms before him.  
  
“Did you come here often?” Guinevere was not so at ease, looking at Cullen to ground herself.   
  
“I loved my siblings, but they were very loud. I would come here to clear my head,” in turn looking back at her. “Of course, they always found me eventually.”  
  
“You were happy here?”  
  
“I was. I still am,” his smile content as he faced back over the lake.  
  
“Alone, with a mage. Doesn't that concern you?” Her words more a joke than serious.  
  
“The Templars have rules on... fraternization. But I'm no longer bound by them.”  
  
“Would it really have stopped you? If we'd met before?” Her smile only dared to be slightly there, afraid of appearing to lean on any serious emotion. Guin was softly teasing the Commander.  
  
“I don't..I...,” Cullen cleared his throat, any answer was wrong. His eyes rolled, leaving the comfort of his post.   
  
“You could say, 'No, of course not.'”Daring to grin, giggling at the Commander.  
  
“It is hard to believe I wouldn't have noticed you.”   
  
Now Guinevere blushed, averting her gaze to the water. The mage turned to glance at the basket, battling with the anxiety being over water caused her. Cullen started talking again, halting Guinevere's advance back to solid ground.  
  
“The last time I was here was the day I left for Templar training,” Cullen held out his hand containing a silver coin, “My brother gave me this. It just happened to be in his pocket, but he said it was for luck. Templars are not supposed to carry such things. Our faith should see us through.”  
  
“You broke the Order's rules? I'm shocked,” teasing gently.  
  
“Until a year ago, I was very good at following them. Most of the time,” Cullen defended. “This was the only thing I took from Fereldan that the Templars didn't give me.”  
  
The Commander turned to face Guinevere, taking a step forward, voice softening, “Humor me.” Placing his open hand under her own, covering her hand with his other hand once her palm rested in his. “We don't know what you will face before the end. This can't hurt.” His honey eyes trapping her turquoise eyes.   
  
“I can get myself out of trouble, I promise,” taking the coin into her hand. Guinevere still wanted it. Pulling a smile from the Commander, as it slid into her pocket.  
  
“You're rather good at getting into it, as well,” Pulling Guinevere's hips into him, “I've read the reports on your adventures.”  
  
His kiss seared into her, gentle...but desperate.  Her hands quickly wound into his hair, fingers tenderly brushing against his scalp. Cullen's mouth parted to allow her tongue access, and him to groan softly into the kiss. Guin's hips bucked into his loins, in retaliation Cullen pressed back- pinning the mage against the post. Guinevere eagerly grinned into his mouth, pushing her hips into his creating a delicious friction. Her soft hand wandering to the curling hair at his neck. His freed hand moved across her lip, just touching Guinevere's bum. She didn't react, prompting an investigative squeeze. The mage's mouth issued a soft gasp.  
  
Cullen's mouth wandered to her jaw, softly littering her neck with kisses as she stretched it for him. His other hand greedily grasping her other buttock. Glorifying in the way she shuddered under him. Cullen's hip returned the action, rubbing against her heated core. The Inquisitor released a soft mewl. Maker, he could take her now. But Guinevere deserved better, much more than a lust driven fuck on the dock.  
  
Cullen eased his ministrations with a soft kiss on her lips.  
  
“Sorry, I got caught up in being alone,” Guinevere bumbled.  
  
Cullen chuckled, “No, I- nevermind.”  
  
“No, you can't just leave it at that.”  
  
“I can, Inquisitor.”  
  
“I see, I'm just the Inquisitor, and your boss now,” huffing at the man, after prodding him in the center of his chest.   
  
“Would I do this to my boss?” Cullen pushed the Inquisitor off the dock.  
  
Guinevere screamed, scrambling to catch his shirt. Only finding the collar of his shirt she pulled Cullen down with her into the cold lake. Cullen was the first to surface, able to stand in the shallow lake. Laughing he searched for where the Inquisitor went. He couldn't find her, and mirth turned to worry.   
  
Guinevere shot from the water behind him, throwing her weight onto his back. Clinging tightly to him as she shook, teeth chattering violently. Her head nuzzled into his shoulder, “Get me out of here!”  
  
“Guinevere are you-”  
  
“Out! I can't swim!” Guin cried.  
  
A chuckle later he brought the panicked lady to the shore, finding himself quickly relieved of his burden. Watching as the Inquisitor high-tailed it for the brush, disappearing into the foliage. Cullen approached.  
  
“Guinevere,” he called out softly.  
  
“Guinevere?” Calling out again just before he walked within sight of her.   
  
Guinevere huddled in a tight ball,  her chest tucked into her knees. The clothing still clinging to him was drying quickly in a flurry of flapping. The mage turned slowly to look at him, glaring. Cheeks running with black liner, eyes fuzzy with tears. His throat grew thick.  
  
“What did I do.”  
  
Guinevere didn't answer, turning her face. Hiding behind her shoulder.  
  
Cullen moved closer, holding out his hand.  
  
“Don't! Don't touch me!” Holding her head in her arms.  
  
“Guinevere please, I didn't mean to. What's wrong?” He pleaded.  
  
The mage didn't answer, the water against her skin sizzled. The metallic taste of her magic filled his mouth. Silently he watched her chest shudder in frenzied breathing. This sight was familiar. But in a way he had never experienced it, it was much different watching another go through a memory. Cullen sank next to her, caressing her shoulder through jolts that tingled in his spine.  
  
“Don't do that again, don't ever. I hate the water, I can't swim.”  
  
“If I would have known, I'm really sorry.”  
  
“I know you didn't know, or I would have never forgiven you.”  
  
“Forgiven me? So you aren't angry?”  
  
Guinevere chuckled, “No, but if you do not take me back to town I might be. You must be freezing.”  
  
“Right, we can always eat in our room. Unless you would like to attend the festival.”  
  
Guinevere grinned widely.


	23. Chapter 23

Cullen's fingers fumbled over the fine ties the laced up the Inquisitor's freckled backside. The bright yellow dress was purchased so that she could match the others in the festivities. Guinevere hadn't packed the matching white undershirt with sleeves, but it would do. Cullen liked seeing the freckles that trailed across her shoulders and ran down her arms, his lips finding an excuse to grace her shoulder as he finished. Trailing his way path to linger below her ear, proud to see the wake of goosebumps he left behind.  
  
Guinevere hadn't bothered with most of her usual makeup, deciding to rather line her eyes with minimal product. The smattering of freckles across her nose was an old sight, but a time he never wished to return to. He liked being here, being with her.   
  
“So,” Guinevere began, toying with the paper crown of sunflowers, “why do only some of the men wear flowers?”  
  
“It means they are with someone,” Why did he feel nervous explaining?  
  
“Oh! Are you going to change now? Before you get my dress wet?”  
  
“Oh! Yes.” Blushing brightly behind her.  
  
Guinevere stepped away, busying herself with her reflection in the water bowl. Fixing her hair beneath the flower crown, she placed on her head. She must have decided she looked too plain as she applied a thin layer of lipstick, carefully avoiding her gaze taking a peak as Cullen changed quickly. Guinevere was trusting enough to change while he remained in the room, she returned the same courtesy by not taking a peek.  
  
“Are you ready to leave?” Rolling up the sleeves of his black tunic.  
  
Guinevere looked up, her excitement bubbling just under the surface, “How do I look?”  
  
“You look fine- I mean great.”  
  
“I was going for pretty, hinting at beautiful, but great will do,” she teased, sauntering across the room. Leaving a scorching line along where her fingers brushed his exposed chest. Waiting for him to follow her out the door. The Commander would not keep her waiting.  
  
“You know this lasts until sunrise, right?” Asking as they filed into the busy square.  
  
“No, but as long as we catch up for the ball we are fine, right?”  
  
“Nobody can tell the Inquisitor what to do,” Cullen teased.  
  
“I am the boss.”  
  
Pulling the woman along beside him, they visited the food stands making sure to visit Nan's first. Cullen slipped the payment for his plate of meat and potatoes, and Guinevere's baked apple onto the corner of the stand. Nan promised to find them later after the eating was finished. Finding an empty table they sat, Cullen watching as Guinevere nibbled on her apple.  
  
Their peace was quickly interrupted, “If that isn't my cousin Cullen and some pretty lady. He must have twisted her arm pretty hard.”  
  
Cullen turned to look at the man harshly, slowing relaxing out of a scowl, “Any you couldn't even convince a lady to look at you without breaking her arm.”  
  
Guinevere glanced at the brown haired man that laughed heartily; he was just younger than Cullen. Piercing blue eyes, but he stood shorter than the Commander.   
  
"So like my cousin to wound me in front of a pretty lady," he cried, grasping his heart.  
  
Cullen chuckled softly, "Richard, this is Guinevere Trevelyan, Guinevere this is my cousin Richard, Nan's son."  
  
"It's a pleasure to meet you," Guinevere chirped.  
  
Richard bowed, "Your Worship."  
  
"Please, Guinevere or Guin is fine."  
  
"Guin it is then, my lady." Taking her outstretched hand to kiss it.  
  
"So, Cull, will you be joining the competition tonight? I hear there is fair chance of your lady friend being the pick of the festival." Richard's eyes sparkled, knowing full well how he was goading Cullen on. Not much had changed in Richard in the years they had spent apart.  
  
"What competition? And pick of what?" Guinevere was quick to interrupt. Blue-green eyes gleaming in her budding thoughts, thoughts that would lead to mischief.  
  
"The men compete in a few competitions during the night, if they win, they get a kiss from the female pick of the festival. The men cut wood and get voted on by the ladies. But most men win by winning a sparring match. The ladies have an easier job, they just look pretty and voted on. Maker knows Nan is pulling all the strings she can."  
  
"Are you going to participate Cullen?" Guinevere asked.  
  
"No." He answered immediately.  
  
"Just a better chance for me to kiss a pretty lady" Richard sang, leaving the two alone to finish their meals.  
  
Guinevere pecked at the apple, filling the silence with her own amusement. Cullen watched the crowd milling about the square find little real interest in the festivities. He was here because Guinevere wanted to be here.   
  
“Does it bother you to be here?” She asked softly, placing down her food.  
  
“It does, but just a little. Thinking about the person I was before,” Cullen sighed, “before I left to become a Templar. Would I be happier if I stayed?”  
  
“You could have been- I can see you being here. With a sweet wife and children,” Guinevere kept her eyes focused on the table, “Is it selfish to say I wouldn't be happier? I'm happier knowing you.”  
  
“Even if it is sitting with a grumpy old man at a table while everyone else is enjoying themselves?” Cullen answered with a smirk.  
  
“Don't you try to diffuse this with self-deprecating humor,” the corner of her mouth creased into a smile.  
  
Cullen paused, working over the right answer. He was happier too, knowing her. Cullen was slowly realizing that he would never wish away the life he had lived, awful shit and all if it meant being without the Inquisition. With the Inquisition he could do real good, he could atone. Even if he stumbled, or failed trying was all that mattered.  Guinevere was part of that; she believed he could be a better man. Despite what a former circle mage should think of the former Knight-Captain of Kirkwall.  
  
But he had waited too long to answer, her attention captured by another.  
  
“Well, I expected Cullen to be sitting here scowling at everyone that dared to enjoy themselves, but not you too child!” Nan fretted, resting her arm on Cullen's shoulder, “The spring pole dance is about to start. You are more than welcome to participate, your Worship.”  
  
“Just Guinev-” She stopped, cut off by a sharp look by Nan, “I wouldn't know what to do.”  
  
“Just go girl, they will tell you what to do!”  
  
Guinevere lit up, but still looked to Cullen for permission. With a nod, she was off, happily jumping into the still tangled mass of women at the base of the pole.   
  
Nan took up the spot beside Cullen, “She doesn't eat much does she?”  
  
“I wouldn't touch her apple; she'll want it. I would know.”  
  
Nan issued a questioning sound, but didn't pursue that line further, “What is she to you?”  
  
“I already- Why are you asking?” Cullen questioned, letting his fork clatter to the plate.  
  
“Well, you can't blame a concerned auntie. You both keep shooting doe eyes at each other, but yet you don't wear her flowers. Besides, once Mia hears of this visit she will have to know everything about her elusive brother.” Nan pestered him, knowing fully well she might not get an answer.  
  
“If you must know, we have... done a few things, but nothing serious. We prefer to keep it private.”  
  
“Or you do?”  
  
“She's never mentioned-”  
  
“Of course not! Silly boy,” Nan teetered between delivering a friendly slug, or leaving Cullen be.   
  
Cullen was too busy watching Guinevere talk amongst the group of women at the bottom of the pole. Guinevere's face not caked in product allowed him to see her red cheeks as she easily spoke to the crowd. The females laughed with her; Guinevere was just that sort of person. One who blended easily with any crowd already they plotted with her and showed her the pattern to the dance. Already they laughed with her. Several of the group turned to look at him at once, with Guinevere smiling devilishly in the middle of them.   
  
Cullen proffered a frown, the group turning away as the music started. Each had their own ribbon of all assorted colors; Guinevere had grabbed the white one. It was all too fitting.  
  
“So, are you going to join the games?” Nan asked.  
  
“No. Absolutely not.”  
  
“You will,” Nan stated.  
  
“No, this is ridiculous.” The Commander of the Inquisition cutting wood? Not likely. Especially not for some giggling females.  
  
“I don't think you will have a choice, nephew.”  
  
“Why is that?”  
  
“Unless you want her Worship being kissed by another. I do not know of any young man that will not vote for Andraste's Herald,” Nan voiced nonchalantly.  
  
“And you had nothing to do with this?”  
  
“That you would even imply such a thing! About your own loving aunt!” Nan gasped in forced horror.  
  
Cullen snorted, “Mia practically learned that from you.”  
  
Nan chuckled softly, patting Cullen's shoulder before excusing herself to return to her stand. Leaving Cullen to watch the spring pole dance. Specifically, Guinevere weaving her way in and out of the other dancers. The mage wasn't skipping around as easily as the other dancers, but she made up for it in spirit with the help of a few guiding words. The yellow dress whirled around her legs, her freckled arms lifted merrily above her head. At this time, she was not the Inquisitor, but a woman enjoying herself. Red hair spinning wildly and with abandon as the dance wound to an end.   
  
Was she always like this? Always so free when away from the confines and structured life of Skyhold? What must she have acted like in the Circle? Unable to freely walk outside? He couldn't imagine it. Not his light, not her being so dim.  Cullen's eyes left Guinevere as the dance concluded and she looked at him, curious to see if he was watching. Just as she watched him.   
  
It was a mistake to let his guard down, the table quickly being surrounded by a group of giggling and cooing young women. Guinevere stood behind the crowd, Nan taking up a position by her side.  
  
“Yes?” Cullen growled.  
  
“We want you to split logs!”  
  
“You must join the other men for King of the Festival!”  
  
“You're too handsome just to watch!”  
  
“Please!”  
  
The females twittered loudly, his face dawned a bright red. Without much of his consent, he found himself shirtless in front of the crowd. Guinevere's bright red face watching him eagerly from the crowd. Stretching his arms side to side he tried to block out the sight of the cooing woman, at least there where several other men with him in the same situation. Testing the weight of the axe against the cutting block his muscles remembered how to do this.  
  
A call later, and the competition started. It was an easy way to make a chore into an event. When their pride was on the line much wood cutting could get done in a short amount of time. The wood was necessary for the winter, and the wood cut because of this competition usually went to the widows or elderly. It was all for a good purpose, in the end, it still felt wrong. Cullen didn't want the attention. His ears turned red, redoubling his efforts of transferring this energy into the log beneath him. Once on log hand been reduced, the next was quickly replaced. The beads of sweat steadily began to fall in his eyes, forcing him to wipe his brow. Catching a glimpse of Nan interrogating Guinevere. He knew this wouldn't bode well.   
  
Forcing his gaze away, he returned to the logs with renewed vigor. The ten minute period dragged out, feeling almost like hours under the gaze of so many people. With the whistle he threw down the axe, not bothering to glance at his pile of wood. Gulping as the same group of ladies came to ogle him once more. Guinevere bringing up the rear of the group.  Amber eyes flashing between the swarming women.  
  
“Ladies, Ladies...if I could please get the Commander's attention. I have an urgent message I need to relay.” Guinevere hushed the crowd.  
  
“A message? From who? What happened?”  
  
Guinevere stepped in closer, “No one, nothing.”  
  
“I'm, I-” Cullen grinned softly, more than happy to take Guinevere's way out of the situation.  
  
Let's- follow me I had something to show you. Now is a good time as any,” Cullen smirked, it would also allow him the time to breathe without others starring at him.   
  
“Cullen?”  
  
“Do I have to drag you?”   
  
With a huff, Guinevere followed and was drug after her shirtless Commander, who ducked into the stables pulling her sharply into his side. Embracing her tightly into his arms.  
  
“This is certainly romantic Commander, with the smell of horse dung and all,” her voice muffled by his chest.   
  
“Perhaps I just wanted to be alone with you for a moment,” Cullen murmured into her hair.  
  
Guinevere chuckled, “Or you have another motive, it is not like you to completely engulf me. Yet anyways.”  
  
“So this is what happens when I try to woo the dear Inquisitor.”   
  
Guinevere huffed against his chest, but she was right. He was avoiding something. Something that should not have been so heard to present her with. It wasn't just his to give. Josie, Leliana, and all of her companions had pitched in one way or another. He was just granted the job of presenting it, because as he was reminded it was his idea.   
Now, it was staring him in the face. Reminding him of how pathetic he was.  
  
“Cullen?”  
  
“Oh, right!”   
  
His freed arm rubbed at the back of his head. His gaze focusing just passed Guinevere's head. Guinevere turned slowly, studying the gray muzzled mare behind her. The mage's blue-green eyes returned to Cullen, amused.  
  
“Is the horse bothering you?”  
  
Never in the way she imagined, but the horse was. The proud light grey Friesian mare snorted, almost insulted to be called a mere horse. It was of the finest, and rarest Trevelyan stock. That 'horse' was worth a pretty penny.   
  
Guinevere, totally unaware, would rather keep her gaze on his muscular frame. A bold hand dared to touch the center of his chest, silky fingers ghosting over glistening skin. Her red lips parted slightly, curious over a matter he could not decipher. In any other situation he would have relaxed and allowed her curious touch, but now it was maddening and bordering on annoying.   
  
“It's yours,” Cullen stuttered.   
  
“Mine?” Guinevere's face contorted in confusion; his face showed annoyance, but this words didn't match. Her fingers retracted.   
With a heavy grunt, Cullen spun Guinevere around, directing her gaze to the horse again. Waiting for the dots to connect, why they had ridden on a single horse, what he had called hers. The female was silent and still.  
  
“Are we joking?” Her voice cracked, a poorly balanced step taken toward the creature. Guinevere's impatience breaking through her smile as she whirled back in his direction, “you couldn't have honestly.”   
  
“Not just me, everyone.” Cullen prompted.  
  
“You foolish man.”  
  
Another statement the Commander would never get to answer. His head was snapped harshly forward, and his lips careened into Guinevere's with significant force. Her hands move into his curls, while her body pressed against him, straining against her tiptoes to keep her lips against his. Cullen folded his arms around her waist, lifting her to better meet his lips. A wet trickling against his cheek causing the break of her kiss.  
  
“Guinevere?”  
  
The woman swiped at her eyes, hiding the tears that had formed there.  
  
“I can't believe you listened to me,” Guinevere's face beamed, “so long ago, I was so sure you weren't listening.”  
  
Cullen looked at crying mage with adoration, unable to keep himself from again sweeping her up into his arms. Cradling her head against his shoulder, threading calloused fingers through her silky hair. “Please don't cry. I- It's. It's the first time you've kissed me without permission.”  
  
“I'm sorry,” half teasing Cullen.   
  
“Would you like to actually see her now?”  
  
“Please.”  
\---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---  
  
Guinevere watched the fight in awe, rooting at times loudly for her Commander. From her spot within the sparring ground, on stage for all the see. She was the prize to kiss the lucky fellow who won.  
  
 It was a brutal free for all where all the men were given wooden swords to beat each other with. Cullen fared spectacularly being one of the few men that had lived his last years in a state of near-constant battles. He sliced through the men with ease able to knock most out with a single whack of his wooden blade. Golden eyes glinting as he stared down Richard.  
  
Cullen struck first, and Richard dodged to the left leaving Cullen's weapon to smack the ground. Cullen retorted by swinging at the man again only to miss a second time. Richard grinned mischievously.  Backpedaling to avoid the Commander set on eliminating him. Zigzagging his steps to entice the Commander into ignoring his surroundings.   
  
Guin had to ball her fists as an opponent quickly snuck up behind the Commander, knocking him flat to the ground. Amazed by his strength and thus distracted Richard took down him down quickly, winning King of the Festival.   
  
Guinevere sighed nervously, holding her hand against her chest. Now it dawned on her that this was not the best idea. She didn't want to kiss another person. Her mouth formed into a lopsided frown. Watching as Cullen rubbed the back of his head, glaring daggers at his cousin. His honeyed eyes darkening as he glanced at the stand, and the watching crowd. Richard took it in with pomp, grinning widely at his cousin.   
  
It was deathly silent as Richard approached the Inquisitor. Guinevere huffed, looking to Cullen, who could offer no escape. With a growl, he looked away.  Guinevere clutched to a small satchel, placing it between herself and Cullen's cousin.  
  
Richard placed his hand against Guinevere's cheek, urging her forward. Springing to her toes Guinevere's lips chastely graced his cheek. But would that be acceptable?  
  
“Oh, my lady! You have spared me! To be kissed on the lips would surely kill me from the pleasure!” Dismissing the crowd with expert words. Richard would not kiss a lady that did not wish to kiss him. It was revenge enough watching his cousin's blood boil.  
  
Guin giggled at the man, pleased. Cullen was at her side before she could take another breath, hauling her away from the crowd. Guinevere had to jog to keep up with Cullen, laughing as she stumbled over her feet and into the Commander. Laughing harder as he toppled under her, Cullen wasn't as amused to find his face full of dirt again. But to Guinevere it had ended perfectly. Chuckling harder as the Commander squirmed beneath her righting himself to glare at the mage.  
  
“I don't understand why this is so funny,” grumbled Cullen.  
  
Guinevere propped her elbows on either side of his face, “You're so jealous,” peppering his brow with gentle kisses through his continued grumbling.   
  
“You should think about things before you blindly jump into them!” Cullen huffed.  
  
“Are you going to be cross with me, Templar?” Guinevere purred.   
  
“Let me up, and I'll show you.”  
  
“No, I think I will keep you here.”  
  
Cullen shuffled beneath her, with a mighty thrust Guinevere was beneath him, Victoriously straddling her waist. “Are we done playing in the dirt, unless you are beginning to like the grime.'' A thumb erasing the smear of dirt across her nose.  
  
“Grime no, but this- this I like.”  
  
Cullen was defeated, sighing softly at the often confusing mage.  
  
“Cullen?”  
  
“Yes?”  
  
“Will you watch the sunrise with me?”


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried something.
> 
> Comments are appreciated.
> 
> Follow me on Tumblr @ nothisis-ridiculous

Cullen paced nervously down the narrowest and furthest reaching hallways of the Winter Palace. Click, click, click, turn. Click, click, click, turn. Dorian added himself to the list of people scolding him for acting out. Cullen ignored the sassy Tevinter man, continuing in the only manner that soothed him. Imposing stone walls and ornate décor threatened him. Looming in closely, wanting to strangle him. The collar of his tight red formals were the hands wrapped around his throat. Carefully smoothed hair threatened to break under the torrent of sweat Cullen was constantly wiping from his brow. Click, click, click, turn. Click, click, click, turn.  
  
Click.  
  
Finally, the noise he awaited.  
  
The Inquisitor strode from her room, grinning with the last statement she must have made to Madame de Fer. Turquoise eyes locked in on him from underneath a white laced mask,  long eyelashes blinking up at him expectantly.  
  
“Commander, you must compliment her on the dress,” Vivienne insisted to the fumbling Commander, almost knowingly, “She almost ended up in the same pity of a formal outfit you are wearing.”  
  
“Ahh, yes, well it looks stunning,” Running a hand through blond hair.  
  
“Why thank you, Commander! Doesn't the back look just as nice?”  
  
Guinevere spun slowly, the sheer outer layer of the red skirt fanning out behind her. On her left hip rested the golden symbol of the Inquisition, surrounded my gold leaves and branches that swept around the smallest part of her waist creating a sort of belt. The fabric drug a few inches behind her, a thicker and more covering layer of red clung tighter to her legs but not too tightly. Above the small of her waist was a solid white low backed panel that curved with her breasts. Resting around her shoulders and diving below the belt was a layer of white organza. He was disappointed to behold that her freckles had been covered, leaving behind a clear set of shoulders.  
  
Her red hair contained behind a loose twist, ringlets of curled hair framed her face. Her usual patch of short hair grown out just for this occasion. Little droplets of gold adorned the rest of her pulled back hair.  
  
Blasphemously his hand pulled a white to crimson gloved hand to his lips, noting with the satisfaction the red ribbon that held his lucky coin around her wrist.  
\---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---  
  
_“Tell me, why do you always watch the sunrise?” Cullen braved the question gently, resting his head lightly against the one perched on his shoulder._  
  
_“Are you prepared for a silly answer?”_  
  
_“Silly? For something, you do every day?” Even when Cullen knew the Inquisitor had not yet retired to bed the night before._  
  
_“Someone is keeping a close eye on me.” Guinevere drawled, nestling in closer._  
  
_“Or your preferred viewing spot just happens to be visible from my window,” Cullen teased, placing his arm around her cold shoulder. Easing the Inquisitor into his warmth._  
  
_“Fine,” Guinevere huffed in defeat, “Corny as it may sound- it was the first thing I saw as I escaped the Circle. I thought it was just beautiful and amazing. I couldn't remember seeing it with both feet outside.  I was finally free, and the sky had just opened up to me. It's-I watch it every morning I can because it reminds me that I am free. No matter what the day was like before, I am free.”_  
  
_Cullen was lost for words, lost at what emotion to convey. His heart tugged for her, setting lose something he could only put between sorrow and adoration. Hearing her speak so fondly of something so minor is his scope of life was endearing, endeared the sunrise to him in the same stroke. Guinevere was so different from the harshness he had known his entire life, even more, different from the harshness of her own life._  
  
_“It's foolish, I know,” trying to retract her words because of his silence._  
  
_“I think I understand,” trying to comfort her; she could speak of it as long as she wished, “forgive me for what I lack in words.”_  
  
\---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---  
  
Another question, another short answer to attempt to fend the demons off.  
  
If his resolve had not been for the Inquisitor, he would have run long ago. Always his eyes searched for her red figure, awaiting her attention. Leliana stood close by, engrossed in watching each association and interaction around her. Cullen couldn't focus enough to remember the name of the Scout that issued reports on his men, and what they were doing. Each movement of the men ran tirelessly through his mind, demanding that he remember every detail. Any missed nugget of information could lead to a fruitless death.  
  
The trickling reports of fighting within the Servants' Quarters only sparked his imagination into darker outcomes.  Was he all right? Was the dress a risk she should not have taken? He could only pray to the Maker to spare her.  
  
A caress of his arm flooded his world in purple; a glossy sheen returned to his face. The Spymaster took pity, placing herself beside the Commander. The action had an ulterior motive, warning Cullen of the approaching Witch of the Wilds, golden eyes scouring over him with disdain. Now only the Hero of  Fereldan and King Alistair needed to appear to make this nightmare real.  
  
“I don't suppose you would save a dance for me.”  
  
“No. Thank you.”  
  
\---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---  
  
_“Cullen, I_ was-was _wondering...” her quivering words fell from her lips._  
  
_Small wrists held the satchel tightly to her chest, gripping it as if it would slip away if she dared not to cling to it with the tightest_ zeal _. Her eyes had grown increasingly avoidant; her posture became stiff. Unsure._  
  
_Cullen was stalled, unwilling to provoke or retreat. His gaze retreated, unsure of how to handle the situation. Only to feel the satchel smack him in the face._  
  
_“What was that for?” He felt himself say with a growl._  
  
_Guinevere scrambled to her knees, apologizing profusely. Both of them were far too tired for the dance Guinevere wanted to perform. It was a long day for both of them. They were the last ones to shuffle back to bed as sunrise marked the end of the festival. Finally, her energy collapsed as she crumbled to her haunches._  
  
_“What are we?” Soft, barely uttered words, “what am I to you?”_  
  
_“Guinevere, you are- Maker's breath. What I am is a Templar, the person who would keep you locked away. You are always questioning what I would think of a mage, after the things I have seen. You should be questioning me for the things I have done. Have you not considered what damage I could cause you?” Cullen took in a deep breath._  
  
_“I don't want to be this thing, this cursed creature that everyone fears. I think that you feel the same way too,” the mage shuffled closer, hovering her finger just below Cullen's down-turned jaw, “I don't see that in you, not truly. You can say the wrong things, but you mean well. You don't want others tortured in the same way you were.”_  
  
_Cullen's eyebrow raised._  
  
_“If we could both be, not what we both are... together.”_  
  
\---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---  
  
Cullen watched with passing interest the forms dancing below him; the red form overtook the butterfly drowning the bug in a sea of red. Guinevere lead the dance confidently, even with all eyes watching her. Not a step faltered, or misplaced. Each quiet word a part of the deadly dance she performed with the Grand Duchess.  
  
“Who knew she could dance,”muttered Cullen.  
  
“Even a noble-born mage is expected to learn all courtly intrigues, dancing included.”  Leliana reprimanded, “more than that, she knows how to play the game well. If only I could hear what Florianne is saying to her.”  
  
“Orlesians.” Cullen huffed under his breath.  
  
“Careful Commander, you have just insulted half of the Inquisition.”  
  
A response was swept away as the crowd reacted audibly to Guinevere dipping the Duchess steadily in her arms. The two continuing to conspire as they walked to bow, then part ways. Josephine was the first to lavish her praise on the Inquisitor.  Stopping the mage from advancing on her own without first checking in.  
  
“Where you dancing with Duchess Florianne?”  
  
“More importantly, what happened in the servants' quarters? I heard there was fighting.” His concerns proceeded Leliana's need for dirt.  
  
“I hope you have good news. It appears the peace talks are crumbling.” Josie worried about the state of Orlais.  
  
“The Grand Duchess tried to convince me Gaspard is the traitor, but I am not sure I buy it.” Guinevere just gave out the necessary information. It was obvious she had danced with the Duchess, obvious that the peace talks were crumbling, and her hair was slightly askew.  
  
“Florianne and her brother are thick as thieves, but she would give him up in an instant to save herself,” Leliana answered.  
  
“Then...the attack on the Empress will happen tonight,” his words calm despite the dread he felt.  
  
“Warning Celene is pointless. She needs these talks to succeed, and to flee would admit defeat.”  
  
“Then perhaps we should let her die.”  
  
Guinevere gaped at Leliana with her mouth wide open unbelieving in what the Spymaster suggested. Josephine was in shock, but Cullen agreed with Leliana. Guinevere held her arms tightly across her chest as they argued, silent in her thoughts.  
  
“I can't decide this not yet,” She finally muttered.  
  
But he mage patiently listened to each parcel of advice that they offered her. Guinevere settled on investigating the Royal Wing for more evidence. She would not make this decision uninformed of all the details.  
  
“Then get me access, and in the meantime, get your soldiers in position. Before I have to decide the next Divine as well.” Guinevere ordered with a growl, even her last words not losing the commanding tone.  
  
\---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---  
 _“Unless, you don't want this.” Words quickly added to her latest statement. Retreating entirely, the leather bag was stolen alongside her warmth._  
  
_“Guinevere, I-” Cullen began._  
  
_“I can't continue this any longer- I can't do this without knowing, I know this is selfish...foolish, brash.” Guinevere stumbled, faltering further as his amber eyes maintained a steady contact. Lulling her into silence._  
  
_“I would not wish to ever push you. Are you sure this is what you want? Me?”_  
  
_“Cullen, I care for you. But this isn't simply about me; this is about you too.” Guinevere prodded, taking his answer with a frown._  
  
_“Remember who kissed whom,” a mirthful answer._  
  
_“Yes, well-” The female deflated, picking away at some invisible thing on her arm. Her face turning to face the sun that had crawled well over the hills and mountains.“I think it is time we retired.”_  
  
\---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---  
  
First had been the gaggle of soldiers demanding his attention, wanting to hear stories of the already fabled Siege of Adamant. They had claimed the Inquisitor sent them in search of the story only the Commander could do justice. While cautious, it was a welcome break from the sickening compliments of the court's ladies and men.  
  
These men he could identify with. They wanted to hear and speak only of strategy and armies. Cullen was glad to oblige their every question. He hadn't felt one part of this ball go by so quickly, and even the men were not taken from his side willingly. Perhaps Guinevere had also sent them out of pity.  
  
His next guest was a little more of a surprise, a slip of an elven girl came clamoring to his side. Insisting, again, that the Inquisitor had sent her after him. Cullen personally escorted his newest charge to the Inquisition soldiers placed outside the Palace, all along the way searching for the Inquisitor, who had disappeared without a word. Disappointed to find that her party had not yet either managed to appear.  
  
What if they were wrong? What if this was a trap to kill all attending the ball? The Inquisitor could have stumbled through the wrong door and was met with whatever Corypheus had in store for the Empress. Killing the Herald would solve his problems, or at least most of them. This was the silence before everything went wrong. They did not come here with enough information.  
  
Leliana noticed his panic, settling in beside him. “What's the matter, Commander?”  
  
“She's not back. Something is wrong. We must-”  
  
Leliana hushed the hissing Commander, her smile growing quickly on his temper, “Do not doubt her, Commander. If you will turn around, you will see she is safe.”  
  
His legs moved quickly under him, catching Guinevere first, “Thank the Maker you're back! The Empress will begin her speech soon. What should we do?”  
  
Cullen studied her, noting the thinning layer of product that was beginning to reveal freckled skin. Guinevere's gaze rested on Florianne, tailing her every move. Her mouth set in a solid line.  
  
“The Duchess will assassinate Celene personally. Wait for her to strike, then grab her.” Words practiced, candanced, and without emotion. He had no choice but to agree.  
  
“As you command.”  
  
\---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---  
  
_Guinevere kept five paces of distance between them. It was unnatural for her to bask so long in silence, but she had made it clear she would do so. Each heartbeat felt like a tremor. Shaking, disturbing, shifting lose the things she had buried deep. But it was all for the best. She was afraid, afraid of what the throbbing in her center meant, of the fluttering in her stomach when they touched... of feeling attached again so quickly._  
  
_Hadn't she learned her lesson? Her father quite literally handed her over, while her mother watched without tears- without a word. Delilah left her the first time because she could handle the risk of being with her. Kell died on her, leaving her without a friend. Delilah betrayed her further by causing the fall of the Ostwick Circle, bringing to fruition the entire shit storm of her life._  
  
_Guinevere could ask for more. She deserved something that would make her feel secure._  
  
_Cullen, perhaps, was not that. His silence or words would confirm it in time._  
  
_“Guinevere.”_  
  
\---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---  
  
Cullen watched the Inquisitor fidget; her arms gripped to the rail for a moment and in the next moved to her sides. Her jaw clenched, and unclenched with each drawn out syllable the Empress made.  He watched her reconsider allowed the Empress to die, each time her body refusing to listen to the new direction she had given it.  
  
Cullen knew better than to question but wondered why Guinevere had chosen this path. Watching anyone die when she could prevent it was not normal for her.  
  
The Inquisitor moved, the red dress trailing behind her as Florianne was given room to speak. Gently pushing aside some nobleman that had carelessly backed into her path.  Florianne did not wait long to press the dagger into Celene's back, the grand ballroom instantly upturned in surprised shouts. The Herald's dress a streak of red hurling over the stone floors.  
  
“Florianne! What have you done?” Cried Gaspard.  
  
“Don't be coy! It went just as we planned! I did this for you, brother!” decreed the assassin before the room.  
  
“Me? Have you gone mad?”  
  
Florianne ignored the plea of her brother to hone in on the soldier approaching from the left and whirling to behold the already charged mage on her right.  
  
“No, not Gaspard. You did this for Corphyeus.” Guinevere seethed, electricity crackling behind each word.  
  
“What a terrible guest you are. Interrupting your host.”  
  
The ballroom devolved into bloodshed, as disguised nobles, jesters, and servants attacked the Inquisition's soldiers. The Herald disappeared after Florianne, Cullen losing her direction in the chaos of the assault.  
  
\---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---  
  
_“Yes?”_  
  
_“Can you...Can we stop,” For Cullen it was already too late, his own advice already_ taken.  
  
_Guinevere stopped with an eye roll, and a hearty sigh. “What is it?”_  
  
_“You threw that bag at me earlier, what is in it?” Rubbing at the back of his neck._  
  
_“Nothing, just nothing,” breathed Guinevere._  
  
_“Please, it most_ have _been something,” Cullen gained two_ paces _, “if you would even throw it at me.”_  
  
_The bag was pressed tighter into her chest, “No, no it was not. It's actually rather embarrassing so if you would...would.”_  
  
_Cullen cupped her waist gently, winding her into him hip against hip. It hadn't been more than more minutes since they last touched, but any time apart felt like a lifetime. Without her breath to tickle his skin, freckles to trace, and warmth to enfold he felt empty. His chin nestled against her silky hair caressing her earlobe with soft words._  
  
_“Please.”_  
  
_“Cullen, you already said-”_  
  
_“Said nothing?”_  
  
_“If this is just to mock me,” her words shook. Her body followed after, her eyes squeezing away the liquid that threatened to break through._  
  
_Cullen never meant to make her cry, his words stumbling out, “I couldn't, I wouldn't mock you, not for this.”_  
  
_Guinevere broke away, trailing a finger along the arm that reached out for her. “You don't have to accept it, even accepting it seriously or not. I- well, shit.”_  
  
_Cullen held back his breath and words, restricting himself from any words or sounds that were inappropriate. Witnessing her behave in such an indirect, and shy manner was growing more amusing. It could also have been the tiredness that seeped into his bones... Watching her mince for words and pause so often was jilting in the least._  
  
_Guinevere rifled through the pack violently holding out the sunflower wristlet, while her head was turned away refusing to acknowledge the thing she held._  
  
_“You know what this means, right?” Cullen questioned._  
  
_“Of course, I do, but it doesn't need to.” Guinevere wrapped her words in harsh armoring._  
  
_“I would accept it if it did,” Cullen stuttered, the tips of his ears and cheeks glowing red. “possibly mean something.”_  
  
_The_ mage _pivoted, a blue light flaring beneath the turquoise eyes, “Really?”_  
  
_The distance between them closed in an instant, Cullen's lips seeking hers desperately. Lips crashing together_ enthusiasticly _against one another's leaving them both breathless before either wanted to stop. Strong arms folded her smaller body into him, safe, solid, protecting and proud._  
  
_“Imagine the look on their faces when they find out the Herald's lover is her Commander.”_  
  
\---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---  
  
  
The Herald had disappeared shortly after the short speech made by the newest Emperor of Orlais. Even Josie and Leliana had not yet received a report on the complete arrangement between Gaspard and the Inquisitor, for now, they seemed content to let it go. All parties could now enjoy the ball without consequence if they were to slip up. That meant Cullen was also free to spend most of his time away from the ballroom, well depending on where the Inquisitor had found herself.  
  
The others might have abandoned her, but he would not.  
  
Following his Templar nose for trouble, he happened upon Morrigan speaking to a figure in a familiar red dress.  
  
Cullen waited for Morrigan to finish her conversation with the Inquisitor, making an uncomfortable amount of eye contact with the Commander as she swept by. This would not be the last he saw of her.  
  
Guinevere rested on her elbows, overlooking the gardens of the palace.  
  
“There you are! Everyone's been looking for you,” Cullen settled beside her, earning a soft smile, “Things have calmed down for the moment. Are you all right?”  
  
“I'm just worn out,” it was an understatement, mask-less face showed her red eyes, “Tonight has been...very long.”  
“For all of us. I'm glad it's over.”  
  
Guinevere crinkled her nose, looking back into the grounds.  
  
“I know it's foolish, but I was worried for you tonight.” Cullen ran his fingers over the swell of her shoulders, glancing into the ballroom. The music paused in preparation for a new piece.  
  
“I may never have another chance like this, so I must ask.” Cullen left her side to bow at the waist, offering out his hand with a half smirk, “May I have this dance, my lady?”  
  
“Of course,” Guinevere smirked, raising her  eyebrows, “I thought you didn't dance?”  
  
“For you, I'll try.” Sweeping the blushing Inquisitor into his arms.


	25. Chapter 25

“You have to be shitting me,” Guinevere was still laughing heartily, “that is a very bad idea, Josie.”  
  
“No, Inquisitor, when the Emperor invites the Herald to Service, she is expected to go.” Josephine was all deadpan and no fun.   
  
“I'll be drunk,” warned Guinevere, already a few drinks down. Dorian snickered while Bull refused to make eye contact with Josephine. Those lucky bastards got out of Chantry service with little more than a word.    
  
“As long as you are upright, and dressed I don't care what state you are in. Just. Be. There.” Josie threatened, a little uncharacteristically. Guinevere wondered if she was disappointed that she had let Celene die, the last few days spent solidifying alliances had been a bit more awkward than usual with her.     
  
Varric snorted as Josie exited the shared common room.  
  
“Shut it, dwarf. You're as bad as the others.” Guinevere huffed.   
  
“I think you misunderstand, Freckles, I wouldn't miss this service for the world,” Earning himself a sharp look.   
  
“Bull, drink.”  
  
“Yes, Boss!”  
  
Guinevere shot down the drink with one great swig. The Iron Bull was more than happy to provide her with another shot. But the mage waited, allowing her burning throat time to recover before she tortured it again.  
  
“You know guys; it has been a while since we last all drank. We should drink,” chimed Guinevere suggestively, “Fine Orlesian wines and brandy, exotic spirits, and all the cheap Antivan beers we could want in one place. No world to save, for now.”  
  
“I'm always up for drinking,” The Bull commented.   
  
“It would be a crime to let this good wine go to waste.” Dorian put down his book. Taking it upon himself to list the various wines and drinks he wanted the man to grab. Bull input a few drinks, Varric wanted a well-aged whiskey, and Guinevere trusted what the others ordered.   
  
“This is your party, Freckles, what are we playing?”  
  
Guinevere thought it over, she only knew of Truth or Dare, or Never Have I Ever- she just wanted to appear more knowledgeable of drinking games to play, “Never have I ever!”  
  
“I've never heard of that as a drinking game, suppose it could work, though,” Bull commented with a laugh.  
  
“Only you, Guin, though it could be truth or dare- Perish the thought.”  
  
Guinevere huffed at Dorian.  
  
“I say we play the game, Kid started the party; Kid picks the game,” Varric soothed, “we just need more players.”  
  
Sera crashed through the pavilion, looking about wildly. “So, heard there was drinking. Where is all the wine, yeah?”   
  
Blackwall pattered in behind the wiry elf, his sweep over the group held the same question. The team was quickly coming together to form numbers needed for the party. Well, at least her companions willing to have this kid of fun. Vivienne was away on some family business, and Solas was busily dreaming away. Cullen and Cassandra were probably busy hitting something, Cole...well he had turned up at Guinevere's side the second her mind wandered to him.  
  
“It's coming, and shortly- for now, we have enough bottles to last. But we may need to share,” Dorian cautioned lightly.   
  
“Come! Join us for some 'Never Have I Ever', Inquisitor's pick,” Varric teased.  
  
“What kind of shite drinking game is that?” Sera questioned, crinkling her face.  
  
“It sounds like 'shite' but if each person drinks every time they put a finger down we will all get drunk, plus bonding.”  
  
“You'll take maybe three more drinks before you start screaming about dragons again.” counseled Blackwall.  
  
“Well, that is where my charming naivety puts me on par with you old geezer,” teased Guinevere with a poke of her tongue.   
  
“Watch it, or I'll have to swat that back-talking backside of yours.”  
  
“Sorry, Dad.”  
  
Blackwall rolled his eyes with a gentle chuckle. Settling in beside Sera, who was opposite of Guinevere, Iron Bull left a space for Cole to squeeze in beside Guin while Dorian took the end of the table nearest the Inquisitor. Varric took the other end of the table.  
  
“How do we play this game?” Cole asked.  
  
Guinevere was happy to explain, “So you say one thing you have never done, and everyone who has done it has to take a drink. You can't say things like 'never ever have I not,' well not until later.”  
  
“Who wins?”  
  
“Everyone wins, Cole.”  
  
“But games are played to win?”  
  
“We all win because we drink.” Guinevere cleared her throat, as all the table were ready. “I'll start- Never have I ever strung a bow.”  
  
Sera, Blackwall, Bull, and Varric all downed their first shot.  
  
“Very good, Guinevere,” Dorian congratulated, “never have I ever lifted a ladies skirt.”  
  
The same group took another shot.   
  
Sera paused for dramatic effect, “Never have I ever tickled a man's arse.”  
  
Iron Bull downed another with a hoot, Dorian with a grumble.  
  
Blackwall chuckled, “Never have I ever lived in a Circle.”  
  
Guinevere and Dorian took their shots with a small humpf.  
  
“Never ever have I admired Curly's backside,” Varric's brown eyes honing in on Guinevere.  
  
Proudly she took a shot alongside Bull, and Dorian.   
  
Bull was quick to speak, “Never have I ever attended a Chantry service.”  
  
Everyone but Cole took a shot.  
  
Cole paused, then smiled widely, “Never have I ever pet a Fennex, though I really wanted too. But he didn't want to. I smelled like a bear.”  
  
Nobody drank with Cole, but he didn't seem to mind. He was thinking of the fennex now.  
  
Guinevere grinned, knowing how to get every to drink again, “Never have I ever stabbed someone with a dagger.”  
  
The party drank, but Cole took longer picking up the glass carefully. Everyone watched as the liquid splashed into his mouth. His reaction was delayed with a curl of his pale upper lip.   
  
“I don't like this. Cole never did this.” Without another word Cole was gone.  
  
It was easy to shrug off Cole's disappearance as the drinks had finally arrived. They were sorted into easy to reach piles for each person's preferred beverages. The game resumed with another round passing. Guinevere had managed to take in the least drinks while Iron Bull and Blackwall tied for the most.   
  
It was Guinevere's turn once again, “Never have I ever-”  
  
The clank of armour and mail distracted the mage, and thus the table. Cullen looked worried; his eyes search the pavilion to land on Guinevere. Mouth fixed in a small frown.  
  
“I heard I was needed-”  
  
Cassandra came clamoring in behind him, “Commander, I do not think-”  
  
Cassandra scowled, the first of the two to realize there was no trouble, “Are you all drunk?”  
  
“Not quite yet,” Guinevere's words slurring just a touch, “what's wrong?”  
  
“Cole said that we were needed here,” Cullen explained, folding his arms tightly.  
  
“That's where he went! Do you think he got drunk! It was marvelous Co-Cullen, he drank alcohol.” Expounding on the situation with a broad grin.  
  
“I see we are not needed here after all,” Cassandra pivoted. “Commander, do you want to resume our sparring match?”  
  
Guinevere had already been expelled from that job because the Commander had ended up shirtless, with a writhing Guinevere pinned beneath him in a dark hallway. It wasn't very conducive to Cullen training, or burning off his frustration. It only added to it.  
  
“Unless you would like to stay and drink, our illustrious leader suggested the game,” coaxed Varric.   
  
Cullen rolled his eyes, “No, thank-,” but he had not considered the Herald's pretty eyes blinking up at him. Her lip just slightly pouted. “One game, and then I must be off.”   
  
Guinevere grinned widely again, patting the spot beside her, “The Commander can sit by me! And please play too Cassie~”  
  
Cassandra sighed, disgusted. “One game.” Taking a spot beside Blackwall.  
  
“Oh, so still my turn! Never have I ever got my tongue stuck to a pole.”  
  
“This is your drinking game?” Cassandra scowled.  
  
“Sounds like you did it~”  
  
“Ugh.” Cassandra took her drink.  
  
Dorian chuckled, “Now let's make everyone uncomfortable, never have I ever said I love you to a lover.”  
  
Cassandra, Varric, Blackwall, and Sera all took a drink. Sera's eyes flashed with mischief.  
  
“Never have I ever visited a brothel!”  
  
Cassandra gasped as each male took a drink.   
  
“Never have I ever, let's see, been with someone I work with,” Cassandra dug down into finding the dirt.   
  
Cullen and Guinevere exchanged a short look before drinking. Bull, Dorian, and Varric joined them. Guinevere's cup slamming a little too hard on the table.  
  
Varric caught the look, smiling like a cat, “Never have I ever kissed anyone at this table.”  
  
Guinevere was still mid-pour on account of Varric's light speed words. Lifting the bottle to her lips, it went bottom's up. She was still the only one drinking.  
  
“No friggin' way,” wheezed Sera, holding her stomach tightly.  
  
Cullen, stonefaced, pressed the glass to his lips downing it without reaction. If not for his ears turning a blushing red.   
  
Cassandra beat her fists against the table in delight, “I don't believe it. How was our Commander?”  
  
Blackwall and Varric laughed, and Iron Bull slapped Cullen across the shoulders making some dirty remarks. Dorian seemed the least surprised of all.  
  
“It was done in broad daylight, right against the battlements-,” Dorian added with a proud grin, “Madame de Fer and I were quite surprised.”  
  
Dorian finally, took a shot. With a laughing Bull following after. The table fell under complete silence, save for a loud and long gasp from the Herald.  
  
“I knew it!” Cassandra cried, jubilant.  
  
“Friggin' everyone does, banging all up against the walls,” Sera seethed. Apparently losing sleep over their coupling.   
  
“My turn,” Iron Bull's loud voice turning the attention to him. “Never have I ever, shit I'm going to break a rule, thought about the boss. In bed.”  
  
Iron Bull and Sera proudly drank. All eyes turned to the Commander, waiting for his next move. Sera snorted reminding the Commander that he had no easy way out of this. With everyone, curious Guinevere included his hands shook around the small glass.  
“Maker's breath,” Cullen swore, downing the shot.  
  
Guinevere took it well, laughing hard. Her head pressed against the table because she could not focus on the balance necessary for laughing and keeping her body from crumbling at once.  
  
“It's, uh, my turn,” turning his head to ignore the chortling mage beside him, “Never have I ever recited the Chant incorrectly on purpose.”  
  
Sera complained loudly at his submission, and Guinevere chocked while trying to inhale the next shot. Varric took his silently, the first to see their newest visitor.  
  
“Guinevere,” trilled Josephine, “you have visitors that are insistent on seeing you.”  
  
The Herald spit out her drink, swiping another bottle for a refill, “Now?” Emptying the shot quickly into her mouth.  
  
“Your parents.”  
  
With much more gusto her second drink exited her mouth at a fast speed. The liquid that had traveled down her throat made her choke, “You must be jo-”  
  
In strode a tall man with noble bearing, and attached to his arm was an equally well to do woman. Alexander Trevelyan still had a full head of light brown hair that greyed at the temples; Cecelia had vermilion locks that proudly displayed turquoise eyes. Her father's eyes were a plain green, and stern. Both looked over the group with disdain, her mother's nose curled directing her sights on the sole reason she was here: Guinevere.   
  
The Herald dabbed her mouth with the back of her hand, trying to wipe away the liquid she had exhaled.  
  
Cecelia was the first to speak with a wave of her hand, “Please, continue. We are only here to speak briefly with our daughter. Do not let us ruin your fun.”  
  
“Guinevere, now,” spoke her father with absolute authority, frightening the mage from her seat.  
  
“Sorry, papa- Father.” Guinevere left the table with a panicked look.  
  
She lead her parents three tables away from the now silent group. Her friends who could watch them without turning keeping an eye on the mage who walked unsteadily, but managed to find her seating without stumbling like a complete ass.  
  
“We wouldn't have interrupted your evening,” Cecelia's nose crumpled, unable to push passed the smell of spirits coming from Guinevere, “but it would have been avoided if your time at the soiree had not been so chaotic.”  
  
“Yes, I do apologize for that. Something pressing matters did need to be attended,” holding back the blech that laid in waiting.   
  
“A bit clumsily, but what can we expect from an overburdened Inquisitor,” Cecelia veiling her discontent.  
  
“But we did not come here to discuss the Inquisition's politics- We came here with an offer.” Her father was quick to steer the conversation into his direction. “The Ostwick Circle is now in shambles, and with that, we have no need for Templars, your brothers, to be assigned to Ostwick any longer. We offer our families considerable financial backing, as well as your brothers to serve alongside your Inquisition.”  
  
Guinevere processed his words slowly through the fog of her inhibited mind. A part of her wanted to screams, others to cry. The largest part was afraid, still the little girl who was so in love with her papa. Just to have him thrust her into the Templar's grip. Fingernails scraped the wooden table, splinters piercing into sensitive flesh.  
  
“Guinevere, we also must stress the duty you have to your family. Have we not provided for you? Made sure you were educated at great length during your stay in the Circle?” Her mother cut in on Guinevere's indecision. She remembered the little girl it was easy to guilt into her words.  
  
 _My stay?_ Guinevere's mind convulsed, electricity plucking at her small hairs, _aren't you disgusted with me now mother? Don't you just hate having to beg to your unwanted child, Papa? Your only child that exceeded your legacy? I could crush you._   
  
“The Inquisition is happy to receive any aid, especially from my own family that has so proudly served Ostwick for generations,” words spoken sweetly, “I would gladly accept my brothers by my side at the Inquisition, as well. I do miss them.”  
  
Cecelia snarled behind her mask; Alexander figured this transaction complete. There was no reason to stay and expose his wife to this drunken party any longer. Passed his somber exterior, he was shaken by this ordeal.  
  
“Guinevere, we must visit you sometime in Skyhold. Not now, but soon.” Waving Guinevere off as they started their exit from the pavilion.   
  
“I would be so pleased,” farewelled Guinevere.  
  
“Well, shit,” remarked Varric once the cost was clear.  
  
Guinevere heaved, the contents of her stomach spilling to the stone tile below her.   
  
\---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---  
  
The Inquisitor yawned noisily with a big stretch of her arms. Her hand returned to rub at a red, and sunken eyes. Guinevere was upright, barely. At least in the dressed department she was golden. Freshly pressed clothes that carried the faint hint of her perfume alone. Her hair was simpler than usual kept braided and over her shoulder.  
  
Josephine looked ahead, now that the Inquisitor was accounted for they could begin heading for the Chantry. Cullen fell in line with Guinevere, curious of the events after her departure from the pavilion.   
  
“Are you all right?”   
“This headache can go away at any time,” Guinevere grumbled.  
  
“I meant after you left, I came to see you.”  
  
“Ah,” Guin smiled apologetically, “I wasn't in my room I thought it would be too obvious. Sera still managed to find me.”  
  
Cullen's fingers brushed her knuckles, “Everything fine?”  
  
“It will be. I will talk to you about it later if you would like to.” Threading her smallest finger around his.  
  
“Of course,” Cullen smiled brightly.  
  
The rest of the jaunt went by in silence on their parts. Cassandra and Varric chattered behind them, Leliana and Josie joked between themselves. Guinevere was content to feel the warmth of Cullen so near to her. But as the Chantry drew into view, she removed herself from the warmth uncomfortable with the large building above her. The Chantry couldn't see something so dear to her just to take it away.  
  
“Wait, I don't trust her,” Cassandra accused with the pointing of her finger, “I have heard stories of awful things she has done.”  
  
Josie raised an eyebrow, settling her gaze on Guinevere. Varric awaited the Herald's answer eagerly.  
  
Guinevere straightened her posture to lose it again, rubbing her head convincingly. “I don't have the energy for trouble. Can we please just get this over with?” whining softly at the group before her. Cassandra started to vocalize a complaint but stopped as Josie's sharp gaze told her to stop.  
  
“We will all behave, and get through this without starting a war,” Josie spoke as if it was a mantra.   
  
“Well the last event we went to we did end a war, lighten up Ruffles,” Varric mused aloud, Josephine managed a half smile.  
  
They were herded into the Chantry; Guinevere played as nice as she could underneath the imposing and watchful statues of Andraste overhead. Meeting Gaspard again was proving to be more grating than she imagined. The mix of subdued anger and the noise level around them meant a short temper on her part. Josie was, fortunately, watching Guinevere to see that her fuse was growing short with the man, dragging the entire group off to find their seating.   
  
Cullen naturally waited for Guinevere to sit, but Josie inserted herself in their way, “No, you are not sitting by him. Cullen, by Cassandra. The Inquisitor need to sit by Gaspard.” Guinevere whined softly, earning another murderous look from Josie. “But Varric should sit next to you, for some pleasant company.”  
  
“Isn't this a bit over thought?” Guinevere had another complaint.  
  
“The Emperor invited you specifically, so you must sit by him.”  
  
“That means no sleeping,” Guinevere pouted.  
  
With a role of her eyes, Josie thrust her hand out to signal the Herald to take her place. With a soft whimper, Guinevere sat, a still perky Varric taking up the spot beside her. Cullen glanced over the mage that sat half crumpled over in the pew, pitying her with a frown.   
  
Service started as soon as the Emperor was seated next to Guinevere. Making it through the first hymn was a blessing, Guinevere had to correct her body weight a time or two but made it back to her seat without further incident. Cassandra's eyes kept wandering in the mage's direction fearing that some mischief would ensue. But every time she looked, Guin seemed out of sorts or stared down into the space between the pews. The time between her mistrusting glances widened as the sermon dragged on, even Cassandra was beginning to nod off.   
  
The second song was a welcomed break, with a renewed discovery. It required concentration and a tilt of her head, but she could hear the Commander's voice carrying during the song. She had fully expected him to mouth the words, just as she was doing, he sang ever so quietly, but it was there.   
  
Another sermon about some Canticle started just as quickly as the hymn ended. At least the mother had not prepared some speech about the evils and abominable nature of magic. Being the Herald had some perks she likely would never have to hear that drivel again, well at least not to her face. That decency would be a welcomed change, in the Circle, it was nearly constant messages on that same topic. Mages were evil. Yes, Guinevere understood that well. Why else would innocent people be locked up in some tower?  
  
No wonder Anders had decided to blow up the Chantry in Kirkwall. She would burn this one down if she could.  
  
The Revered Mother stumbled on the title of the next hymn to be sung. She didn't remember assigning this song to the program that day, but already several had started flipping through the hymn book for the relativity unknown verses.  
  
Cassandra was one of the first to find the page of the hymn; her brown eyes grew wide and disgusted. The book dropped into her lap, spilling the larvae and maggots down her lap and into her boots.  
  
The Seeker shrieked with the pitch and intensity of a young girl, “Andraste's bloody knickers!” Profaning loudly for the Chantry to hear, an unfortunate habit she had picked up from Guinevere and Varric.   
  
But she was not alone, the entire row the Inquisition occupied squirmed accordingly to their individual feelings about maggots. Gaspard grabbed Guinevere's book and emptied the contents onto the floor. Three other ladies fainted, with one throwing her book to the floor.   
  
“You,” Cassandra accused wrathfully, “You little shit, you did this!”   
  
Guinevere balked, putting a hand to her chest, “What could you mean Seeker? My own book was planting with these disgusting maggots; the brave Emperor saved me from those vile worms!” The corner of her mouth flickered.   
  
“Then who did this?” Cassandra asked angrily, ignoring the silent Chantry around her.   
  
“Those awful Red Jennies would be the first place I would look,” Guinevere's accusation garnered a few nods.   
  
Cassandra huffed, growing less confident as the silence of the Chantry continued.   
  
“Seeker, if we could continue service without further profaning the Most Holy's name I can find it within myself to continue enjoying the Revered Mother's riveting sermon,” Guinevere counseled gently.


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More NSFW.

“Do you really need to go?” A question Cullen knew the answer to. Or course she did, the Inquisitor was needed all around Thedas to clean up the mess left behind by seemingly everyone else.  
  
Where he was, was perfect. Even if he was parked on his desk.  Guinevere stroked his knee, trailing her fingers up his thigh across his chest, and finally rested on his chin. Her thumb pulling open his bottom lip.  
  
“We've had too much time together; I don't know how I'll survive without you.”  
  
Cullen didn't need words when her lips dangled within reach, guiding her gently over him. Tender lips brushed his with vigor hands finding their spot on his hips. A curious tongue parted the divide between them; Guinevere captured him quickly. A thumb dipped under his shirt, exploring the heated skin beneath his clothing. The Commander groaned into her mouth each touch sending a wave of pleasure into his core. Her hand followed behind her thumb caressing the edges and bumps of his muscles.   
  
The inquisitive mage began to explore lower, her mouth moving to trail his jaw. Finally resting along his neck with long and dragging kisses. Guinevere's thumb dipped beneath his breeches, her body freezing against him. Cullen's hip acted on its own rolling against her thumb. The mage returned to her maddening pattern against his neck, kissing, sucking then biting the sensitive flesh. One after the other her fingers dipped under his breeches; the ever adventurous thumb brushed over the tip of his rigid member.  
  
“Guinevere,” Cullen moaned through his teeth.  
  
Emboldened by his moan Guinevere surrounded his member with her delicate hand. Gently rubbing the veiny underside of his cock with her thumb. He bucked against her hand another hissing moan escaped his lips. He wanted this, had been craving it for weeks. The droplet of precum already leaked from his tip smearing on her palm.   
  
As usual, the door swung open, and he found himself splayed on his back. Guinevere turned to face the intruder.   
  
“I didn't mean to interrupt anything,” Varric stated mid-laugh.  
  
“I was proving a point,” said Guinevere.  
  
“If that is what you kids are calling it these days.”  
  
“Well, I was just leaving.”  
  
“Later, Freckles.”  
  
Cullen shook his head, rising to his feet. “Varric?”  
  
“Yes, we were thinking of having a game of Wicked Grace, for the Herald, tonight. Will you join us?” The dwarf leaned against the frame of the door.  
  
“I have a thousand things to do,” Cullen began.  
  
“Come on, Curly. Do it for Freckles- she'll be glad you came,“ Varric prodded.  
  
Cullen huffed, “Fine.”  
  
“That's great! Be there an hour after dark.”   
  
Varric left him alone, leaving Cullen with his thoughts.  
  
It would be an excuse to ask her to visit him that night. But what would he say? I want to sleep with you? That was hardly a romantic declaration to make, even if she had wanted to...sleep with him. Things were progressing quickly between them, and every encounter was closer and filled with more lust, more want.   
  
In the least they could talk about it, she could decide what they were to do. Cullen would never push her, even if the thought of her kept him awake. Kept his hand so crudely palming his insatiable need every night.   
  
So tonight it would happen, barring an unlikely incident with tonight's game of wicked grace.  
  
\---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---  
  
Commander,  
  
Did you finally find your pauldrons?   
  
-Guinevere  
  
\---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---  
  
Lady Inquisitor,  
  
Yes, I did. Though I was not aware that you were aware they were missing. I am also assuming that you were not aware they were in your room either? Some slanderous individual hung it from your bedpost as a trophy- it has been quite the rumor.  
  
-Commander Cullen Rutherford  
  
\---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---

  
Commander Cullen Rutherford,  
  
The horror! We must find this person and have them flogged!  
  
Were you at all offended by the implications of such a rumor? I want to know your thoughts, so I know how much repayment is needed for this slander.  
  
-Lady Inquisitor Guinevere Trevelyan  
  
p.s. No flogging.  
  
\---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---  
  
Lady Inquisitor Guinevere Trevelyan of the Circle of Magi,  
  
My own pride has not been hurt. I have developed an odd sort of camaraderie from such rumors, the men are apparently more intent to listen to a Commander that is “getting some from the boss lady.” Their words, not mine.  
  
But I do worry about any awkwardness that might come between us. And must admit I would be pleased if any of the rumors were true. I just request that you ignore that statement if it is any degree alarming to you.  
  
In other news, that you likely know, that we have repaired the bridge and opened that grove up for you. My men reported seeing a dragon in the area, please be safe.  
  
-Commander of the Inquisition Cullen Rutherford  
  
\---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---  
  
Commander of the Inquisition Cullen Stanton Rutherford of Honnleath,  
  
You sly dog making me blush!  
  
I promise you that I will be fine. I have every intention of returning home once I rescue the men from the undead. Things are a little tense here. For everyone. Unfortunately.  
  
Solas left us shortly after a personal mission, please watch for his return to Skyhold.   
  
-Lady Inquisitor Guinevere Philomena Elizabeth Lyethe Petunia Trevelyan of The former Circle of Magi, Herald of Andraste  
  
\---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---  
  
Lady Guinevere Trevelyan,  
  
Well, this is honestly awkward... How are you, sister?  
  
Look, I'm not going to pretend to know you either. I just thought I would write you, so you knew that I had arrived in Skyhold.   
  
I heard everything Mother had to say about her visit with you, and I don't wish to treat you in the way she likely has. I'm actually proud of my little sister being drunk in front of Mother, I wouldn't have survived the encounter.  
  
Sincerely,  
Anton Trevelyan  
  
\---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---  
  
  
Inquisitor,  
  
Templar's Villa, third floor. A lever behind the stone with the image of Andraste leads to the room.

  
  
\---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---  
  
  
  
Leliana,  
  
Who wrote this? Who gave this to me? Why this room that could be anywhere in Thedas?  
  
Please look into it, time permitting.   
  
Thank you.  
  
Guinevere  
  
p.s. Your discretion in this matter would be most appreciated.   
  
\---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---  
  
Guinevere,  
  
I'll look into it immediately; I want all the units assigned to your camp and messengers sent to me.  
  
It is a very vague description, but I have an idea that I will not burden you with. Might I suggest you have a proxy open all letters for you in the future? In the case of any foul play.   
  
-Leliana  
  
\---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---  
  
Guinevere,  
  
I don't have good news.  
  
The investigation on Delilah has only confirmed what you knew- several can attest to Delilah being the one to strike down Lydia.   
  
She also was missing during the time your groups went their separate ways. Several others were gone during this period as well, so it could be a coincidence, but Linnae was among them.   
  
What do you want to be done?  
  
-Leliana  
  
\---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---  
  
   
Leliana,  
  
Put a bounty on her head. We need to know anything that involves Corypheus.  
  
Guinevere  
  
  
\---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---  
  
Josie,  
  
I have felt that I have upset you lately. I know this is better put to words, but the 'suggestion' of the Emperor had me leaving with hardly a moment to breathe.  
  
I am sorry for my behavior toward the end of our trip to Val Royeaux- after you so kindly allowed the Commander to whisk me away from Skyhold just before the peace talks. I shouldn't have let my emotions drive me into such a childish state.  
  
Guinevere  
  
\---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---  
  
Lady Trevelyan,  
  
You have done nothing to alter my opinion of you. The grace and poise you demonstrated at the Winter Palace was a relief; I was glad not to have to worry about your behavior on top of the Commander's whining. The events were unfortunate but benefited the Inquisition.  
  
Josephine  
  
\---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---  
  
Josie,  
  
Please stop the diplomat talk.   
  
Guinevere  
  
\---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---  
  
Guinevere,  
  
I did mean the bit about the Winter Palace. I don't, and will not agree about letting Celene die. But most of that was the shock; it was not what I could have imagined happening.   
  
It is actually I that should apologize, forcing you to attend service was a mistake. Not just because of your actions, but because I did not know your opinion on Andraste was so...negative. If Cassandra had alerted me earlier, it would never have happened.  
  
I would have also sent away your parents if I knew what would happen.  
  
-Josephine  
  
\---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---  
  
Josie,  
  
And I should not have acted that way, during the service. But it was worth it. Sorry.  
  
The deal with my parents could not have been avoided, and after all, we gained soldiers and financial backing from my family. We gained something out of the mess.  
  
Guinevere  
  
\---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---  
  
Darling Daughter,  
  
We have decided to visit Skyhold before returning to Ostwick. We understand that you are away for the time being, but we will enjoy the company of our sons in the mean time. Your Ambassador has been a most gracious host. We pray you return home soon!  
  
Cecilia Trevelyan


	27. Chapter 27

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait.
> 
> Smut, all smut.

Another day, another war meeting.

Such was the drudge of life while the Inquisitor was away from Skyhold.

Perhaps it was his fault for calling a meeting so late into the evening, his men were human and had lives outside of their work for the Inquisition, it just wasn't fair that one of the presumably female soldiers had decided on the same perfume as the Inquisitor. Cullen hadn't noticed it until the last few minutes, but once he smelled it- it would not leave him. 

Was it pathetic to admit his heart sunk, knowing it was not his lady? 

“Rylen's men will monitor the situation.” Cullen all but ignored the affirmative reply as his attention was pulled to the latest report presented to him. Scanning it for any content that would be deemed worthy of further consideration and debate.

“In the mean time we'll send soldiers to-” The Commander's words tumbled from his lips. In the shadows stood his light, toying with her bottom lip. Eyes glinting with a hint of mischief, she was home very early. He had not heard the Herald had returned. “Assist with the relief effort. That will be all.”

Cullen maintained visual contact with the Inquisition as he shooed the men from his room. Closing the door behind them with both hands, “There's always something more, isn't there?”

But wait, that was the wrong thing to say. He didn't want Guinevere thinking she was that something more- she never could be. His words were never the right ones.

“Long day?” But Guinevere's musical words flowed without a hint of self-doubt, slight amused but nothing out of place. She even smiled gently at him.

“I shouldn't complain,” he spoke pushing himself away from the door, “this war won't last forever. When it started, I- I hadn't considered much beyond our survival. But things are different now.”

Guinevere stalked forward, curious, “What do you mean?”

He turned to watch her move closer, watching the sway of her hips and the light reflecting off of her pale and freckled shoulders. Seeing her again without the cover of powder was refreshing- he quite liked the plucky freckles that littered her skin. “I find myself wondering what will after- when this is over. I won't want to move on...not from you.” Caressing her cheek gently with his gloved thumb, the mage blushing under his touch.

The second of time it took her to think up a response was too much. Inwardly he was already berating himself for being too forward, for sounding like some love sick puppy. “But I..I-I don't know what you- that is, if you, ah...”

Cullen had to turn away, to escape her gaze. His desk was suddenly interesting with the scattered and strewn papers; the bottles left from nights that drug on far too late. 

“Cullen.” Finally, she spoke. Weaving her way between him and the desk. “Do you need to ask?”

Did Guinevere know the fading indignation he felt about her rump gracing his desk? Her smile said yes, but yet he could never bring himself to lecture her. Even now as she fidgeted for a proper balance, “I suppose not, I w-”

To bring about the very thing he would lecture her about, a bottle cascaded to the floor her gaze followed the bottle with a soft gasp from her mouth. Her blue-green eyes returned to him with a sheepish grin, her bottom lip compressed by two teeth. His eyes rolled, but he made sure to smile. With a flick of his eyebrow, he cleared his desk of everything bottles, books, and papers clattering to the floor loudly. Guinevere gasped again gently, a soft giggle following it.

Gently clasping her thighs he pushed her across the desk, while rounding the corner of the bureau. Cullen followed her onto the desk; his leg rested against her center. Guinevere's curious hands already brought his face to hers, kissing him tenderly. Why he had waited this long to kiss her was beyond him. Had they not just been separated for weeks? Cullen gently rocked against her, the mage curling into him. Her kiss grew more urgent, more wanting. But Cullen kept his pace slow, the hand not curled under her head rubbed at her bare shoulder. 

Guinevere released his mouth to let out a soft whine as her legs began to tangle around his, the curve of her neck exposed just for him. His lips took the opportunity skimming the prickling skin with silky kisses. Her skin felt and smelled wonderful- she must have come straight from her bath. Vanilla undertones mixed with jasmine was heavenly, with some other spicy and musky scent he could not place. With a sound akin to a growl, he suckled at the point where her neck met her collar. The hand previously at her shoulder moved to the small of her back.

Greedily his mouth moved on tracing along her collar bones, down across the line of fabric barring him from her breasts and back up then across her opposite collarbone. Cullen rested at the base of her throat licking and kissing up the flexing lines of her throat. His descent was simpler, letting the fine hairs of his stubble tickle the reddening skin. His fist beneath her balled, pulling her shirt in tighter and shorter. 

Cullen's lips pressed at the flat and hard gap between her soft mounds, amber eyes looking into her darkening turquoise pools. “May I?”

Guinevere nodded, but still he waited. “Please, can you say it?”

“Cullen, please,” Guinevere murmured.

With minimal shuffling and twisting, he freed the mage from her shirt, transfixed with the mess of freckled and pale skin beneath him. Certainly, the white laced breast band that barely muted out her smaller than imagined nipples was not a battle worthy garment- and it surely was an Orlesian thing to worry about the appearance of their undergarments. It didn't last long enough for Cullen to worry about it further, discarding it behind his desk with her shirt. 

Cullen glanced up at Guinevere again, making sure she did not seem distressed. But she was calm, if not a little curious to what he would do next. His mouth would not remain still for long, peppering kisses to the top of her pert nipple. Slow engulfing the bud into his mouth, pleased as he felt Guinevere buck into his leg. His gloved hand reached to grasp her other breast, drawing a sharp hiss from his Herald.

“Please. Take off those gloves.”

“Yes, M'lady,” Cullen breathed coyly. Removing his fur pauldrons in addition to the gloves and vambraces, hurrying to return to her skin. 

In an apology to the breast, he had previously insulted he focused his attention there, twirling his tongue around her hardened nipple. Drawing the heavy flesh into his mouth with a gentle suck. His hips rutted against the hard desk's surface. A free hand cupped her other breast, twirling it lightly in his fingers. Another quiet whine escaped Guinevere's lips. His other hand rubbed along the outside of her upper thigh, his thumb drawing circles against the flesh of her hip. 

A few minutes longer with full attention on her breasts produced few results, so along the Commander moved.

Rather than using just his lips, his teeth barely scrapped against the flesh of her stomach. The muscles of her stomach tensed under him, then shuddered in relief. Her breathing becoming more erratic as he moved lower. Teasing the fluttering skin covering her hips with alternating nips and kisses, traveling across her pant line to tease the other hip. Inhaling deeply the scent of her arousal through her soft cloth breeches. Palms smoothed down her legs, removing her boots as he shimmied himself down from the desk. 

His thumbs once finished dipped beneath the cloth of her breeches, gripping Guinevere's hips firmly as they squirmed at his touch. Once she calmed, his teeth moved to the leather lacing maintain complete eye contact as his teeth worked over the strings. Guinevere's quivering hands struggled to thread through his hair without gripping too harshly on his skull.

Unlaced breeches revealed a patch of white lace smalls- matching the already discarded breast band. Cullen paused. In the next moment, his mouth covered hers with heavy and breathy kisses his palm rubbing soft circles through her breeches above her warm center. Guinevere mewled softly into his mouth, gripping at the edges of his chest piece prying at the metal without any luck. But this was not his turn for pleasure; this was about her not him. Before she could work the armour from him, Cullen descended trailing lingering kisses down her neck, nipping gently at her pulse point. 

Cullen's mouth continued southward, pausing briefly at her breasts then again at the pooling at her navel. Dipping his tongue in testingly. With a last tug on his straps, Guinevere gave up her pursuit settling against the desk and watching him with dark and hungry eyes. Cullen's tongue traced the curves of her hip bones, maintaining the maddening eye contact. His tongue danced over the border of her smalls unsure of its next course of action.

“I'll only keep going if that is what you want,” Cullen purred against her hip, “and only as far as you will let me.”

“Cullen, please. I want you.”

“Good.”

Carefully his teeth grazed her silky skin, pulling the thin fabric with it. Her breeches and boots were less ceremoniously removed with his hands greedily pulling them from her body. But the smalls, that laced fabric would come off slowly. His hand pushed her knee forward, pulling the leg free of the fabric his lips seeking her toes to work tortuously to her hip. His lips trailed along the muscled lines of her shin, around and along her knee to begin up the side of her thigh. Nipping the skin to allow himself to listen to her sharp gasps as his lips moved closer to her core. He rested in the crook of her inner thigh and out lips, before placing the rest of his gentle kisses around her mound, grinning as she involuntarily bucked beneath him. Placing the leg over his corresponding shoulder.

Cullen repeated the process for the other leg but removed the panties from her with his teeth. Placing that leg gently over his shoulder. Studying the intoxicating curves and valleys afforded to him from this view. The Inquisitor was marbled in goosebumps; lips hungrily held between her teeth. Her gaze was questioning, but ultimately impatient. She was waiting for him to move, to do anything. But he was too busy watching the torchlight flickering over her body. Her body all new for him, untouched by any other soul. Was this right for him to take? But she was willing, wanting for him evidenced by the glistening between her legs. 

Maker's breath, she had made herself bare for him. 

“If you don't want to...Cull- ah!”

His tongue dipped between her folds, but only teased at her sensitive inner folds. Cullen withdrew to temporarily to gauge her reaction, smirking as her nails dug into the desk. He had only acted so hastily to cool her anxiety. His approach now was slower, kissing and sucking lightly at her inner thighs until she quivered. 

Finally, his tongue sought the prize- with his tongue flat he drew his tongue against her slit. Guinevere whined, but it only urged him on. His broadened tongue lapped against her sex steadily, wriggling his tongue against the sensitive nub every third round. Gradually his tongue began to flick into her folds gathering them into his mouth with the gentlest of sucking. Already her hips bucked against his mouth her breathing growing harsher with each pass of his tongue. When the tip of his tongue began to   
trace along the hood of her clit her hips thrashed harder, requiring his hands to tightly grip her bottom.

Guinevere's thighs trembled on his shoulders gripping and then releasing in her fight for control. Made all the more torturous by Cullen's lazy circles around her clit. He swirled her folds and would take them in his mouth all at once suckling them until her hips writhed from the desk in her pleasurable agony. This barrage continued for several minutes, always lowering her back down as she began to mewl. The sweat beaded across her skin, making it all the more challenging to keep a good grip on the thrashing mage. Placing his arms cross her hips bones seemed to work the most easily, keeping the end he was enjoying from leaving his grasp. 

Gently taking her clit into his mouth, his tongue flicked the bundle of nerves, his pace building but this time it did not slow. The Herald's whimpering grew louder as she began to peak, hands gripping painfully into his scalp as she fought against the pressure forcing her ass against the desk. Dusky nipples pointed at the ceiling as her back curled.

“Cullen please- I'm, I'm going-” Her words scattered in her begging.

Her cunt began to clamp and shudder. Her thighs constricting his head in an attempt that was to either push him away or pull him in tighter. With a hum he continued, alternating between suckling and circling her engorged pearl. 

“Please, no- Cullen” she whined.

The Commander pressed the nub with the tip of his tongue grinding it lightly against the bone underneath. Her hips and thighs jolted suddenly requiring all of his strength to keep her down as Guinevere's walls pulsed. The waves of orgasm overtook her his tongue waned its attentions as she came down, a heavily breathing mess. 

“Cullen, are we-” Guinevere finally spoke after her breathing had calmed, but she was again interrupted by the loud scrapping of a door opening.

“Get upstairs!” Cullen hissed, throwing his shoulder into the door, luckily, nearest his desk. “Just a minute, I- I'll unlock the door.”

Guinevere scrambled up his ladder. Cullen jiggled the handle then released the door as soon as the Herald slipped out of sight. Sure to wipe his face of the liquid coating it before the scout could get a good look at him. 

“Commander, another report from Rylen about troop movements in-,” the scout paused, as Cullen's glower increased, “did I interrupt something?”

Cullen was sure he saw the discarded clothing, and the man's crinkled nose could only be because of the smell of sex that hung in his small office, but Cullen would still convince him otherwise, “No, but that being said I do not want any more reports tonight.” His stattaco grew slower and more pronounced. 

“I will alert everyone else, Ser. But I would suggest locking your doors in the mean time.” Jim pivoted on his heel, booking it out of the office and from the Commander's sight.

“Thank you, Jim,” Cullen murmured. 

He was careful to make certain that all three of the doors that lead to his office were securely locked. His hand rested on the last knob as the creek of the boards above him came to his attention. The Inquisitor was pacing, likely impatient to have him return. But should he push her further? He wanted her to stay the night, which he could ask of her. The Commander continued to battle as he removed the few remaining pieces of armour from his body. Lastly, he swiped the last of her garments from the floor being those up the ladder with him.

Guinevere was busily fixing her hair in the mirror, confidently bent over the small vanity in her concentration. Dropping her clothes onto the vanity Cullen slid up behind her, rough hands ghosting up the alluring curve of her ass. Dragging his middle finger along the slit of her still puffy lips. He couldn't help himself. Guinevere retorted by slinking against him, peppering soft kisses along the base of his jaw. 

She surprised him by fully turning around and pushing him to the bed as her hands wandered beneath his shirt. Cullen was more than happy to help her in removing his shirt so her hands could spread out over the lines and ridges of his muscled torso. Soon he cascaded to the soft bed, Guinevere straddling over him with a hungry mouth. Her tongue impatient to taste him, as her hands roamed tickling at the edge of his leather breeches. Guinevere tugged tightly at the lip of his drawers, unsure if she had permission to proceed. 

Oh, how she giggled as he bucked beneath her in the attempt to wriggle his breeches and smalls away from him. With that finally accomplished Guinevere's mouth left to explore the rest of him.

The kiss was laid gently on the scar that crossed his lip, the tip of his nose, the bridge of his nose until finally kissing his forehead. Nervous lips then moved to his ear, lightly licking the rim of his ear before gently suckling on his earlobe, his minuscule shutter did not go unnoticed as she repeated the movement for the other ear. His hands decided on resting on her hips, kneading small circles into her flesh. 

Hot tendrils were next felt lapping against his neck, her kisses drug down his skin infuriatingly. His member was already passed the point of aching as it rested so close to her entrance. Cullen had some relief as her mouth sucked as his pulse point, a low moan rolled from his lips. Prompting Guinevere to explore lower, gently rasping her teeth against the lines of his collarbones. Her hands struggled for his wrists bringing them somewhat unexpectedly to her lips. Pressing each of his digits gently to her mouth, caressing his palm, then traveling slowly up his arm.

It was a pleasant thought to have his entire body kissed, worshiped by the woman before him- but when it came to the actual task it took quite the long amount of time to accomplish the task. He could still relish it, his eyes closing as he relaxed just to have them pop open. The flesh of her cheek brushed his member as she descended to his toes. Guinevere moved across his feet rather than back up his thighs her nervousness to touch that area of him was noted, but not yet acted upon as her lips dragged tortuously over his calf and up his thigh. 

The mage paused at the apex of his hips, glancing between him and somewhere to the bottom left of her vision. Her fingers rapped against his thighs; her lips quivered as her head dived down.

Cullen caught her chin before she could open her lips over his member. Drawing Guinevere up with him as his torso rose, his head shook. She wouldn't need to do that; she would never need to. Guinevere 's lips were quickly claimed, his hands roamed her sides stopping to cup her hips, sliding the female beneath him in an easy flip. She bucked beneath him; a soft moan escaped his lips as his cock felt the slick and soft skin rubbing against his most sensitive skin. Her movements left his head pressing against her slit.

“Guinevere, are you sure? We can stop.” Cullen needed her permission. He already felt unworthy, but to know he was taking her maidenhead with it- that was something they needed to consider. 

“Cullen, please.”

“Guinevere, please, I must hear you say it.”

“Cullen, I'm ready. I know what- what this means, what will happen. I want you, more than just for sex. I want to do this.”

He felt his face lift into a wide grin, “Thank you.”

Cullen shifted against her, alarmed at which such a small movement returned his member to full force. The woman tensed under him, readying herself in the worst way. “Relax, just relax,” Cullen didn't know if it was meant for her.

Gently Cullen pressed himself against her entrance, eliciting a soft whimper from her lips. Her hips rising to ease him inwards, but he proceeded slowly pushing the tip of his member into her vagina. Her tight walls quivered around his head, a second to adjust and he pushed in just a millimeter more. Guinevere's legs wrapped around his thighs, pulling him suddenly half way into her. Her lips released a soft hiss a little unaware of what pain her impatient action could cause but quickly enough she began to rock against him. 

“Impatient?” Cullen whispered against her ear.

“You won't hurt me,” Guinevere murmured, her words fell lazily from her mouth, unfocused.

That unfocused pair of lips were soon crashing again against his, her legs urging him to fill her further. Finally, his full length was inside her, gripped by soft and tight walls that adjusted to his girth. Carefully he drew back, then pushed himself back into her. Guinevere's smooth belly brushed his own, this time fully deciding to follow his action. Each slow pump in and out was meet with her thrusting, her mouth releasing the sweetest of whimpers. His hands roamed down her raised skin, slipping his arms beneath her shoulders pulling her tighter into his embrace.

Her quiet gasps could now be heard with full effect with her open mouth adjacent to his ear. Curious lips sought the shell of his ear, only amplifying the soft sounds further. Cullen's tempo increased, the nails of her toes curling against his skin meant he was performing well. Her nipples dragging, still, pert, against the muscles of his chest. Guinevere's nails scrapped over the ridges of his back clinging desperately to each inch of skin she could cover. 

Cullen felt the pressuring building, winding and begging to be released. Guinevere's mewling grew sharper- her mouth hanging open far longer than it managed to lavish attention on him. Not-not that was what he required. Her soft thighs, and smooth calves sliding against his rough and gristly legs. It was bliss; this entire situation was bliss. Cullen had never considered courting another, certainly not having a person beneath him, in such a carnal position and to actually have feelings for that person. To have her silky skin undulating against him encouraging his...

release.

He would have liked to last longer, to edge her again to release, but it had been a long while since the last time he had indulged in any tryst. His endurance in this manner was short.

“Maker's breath,” he swore against her skin. 

“Mmmm,” Guinevere hummed.

“Stay, please.”

Cullen's absence from her side was brief, wringing the cloth between his hands so the temperature of the damp rag would not be so shocking. Situating her back into his grasp, he slid the cloth between her legs. Carefully cleaning the mess from her thighs, the mage was silent nestling her head modestly into his arm. Too quickly her breathing had deepened- he would ruin her ruse.

\--- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- ---

Guin awoke early, as was her usual schedule. Cullen didn't budge as she left the bed, he didn't hold a particularly good location for watching the sunrise, but it was enough for the attempt. She had spotted her clothing, easily lumped so that she could escape without too many people noticing her absence. Wouldn't he want that? To avoid unnecessary rumors?

It would certainly be easier for Josephine to maneuver the possibility of an alliance if she was officially unattached. Plus, every move they had made 'together' had been in complete private. Perhaps that was where they stood. It was easier to say prettier things than to admit the truth. Not something that Guinevere was completely sure about enjoying, but what could a mage expect of a Templar?

Easing herself on the bed to lace her boots, Cullen began to murmur in his sleep. It wasn't the first time that night, and the frightening aspect behind it began to fade, although the words he said were threatening and made her uneasy. Uneasy enough to jump as he violently awoke. Amber eyes boring into her.

“Bad dream?” Hovering her hand above his chest, not yet daring to touch him. 

“They always are. Without lyrium, they are worse.” Propping himself up to instead grasp her cheek, “I didn't mean to worry you.”

“I'm never worried,” Guinevere's hand gracing his cheek in return, smiling cheekily.

“I almost believe you,” Cullen said with a smirk.

Guin placed her forehead against his, resting her head on his shoulder. 

“You are... I have never felt anything like this,” His voice grew soft, flowing.

“Then I've succeeded.”

Guinevere knew this situation must have called for a more serious answer. Jesting, now that she had done it was cruel. But her body fluttered against her. The words were easy but didn't feel genuine. Surely it was more than a dalliance, but perhaps not quite yet that. Not more, but on the brink. She was afraid.

Cullen drew her into a kiss.

A simple nod excused her from his room.


	28. Chapter 28

Slick, sliding and bobbing.  
  
Her warm skin igniting his flaring heat. Fingers digging into the hard flesh of his thighs created a focus point, a point in which he could keep himself from so inelegantly spilling into her. Maker's breath, she was so close. Yet entirely not close enough. Guinevere's sounds, always soft, were growing louder. Her walls pulsing around him; it had been so for the last long minutes.   
  
Her breasts swayed as she undulated over him, angling herself with better precision for her pleasure. Their lovemaking had improved in the weeks following their coupling. Guinevere proved to be ravenous in her appetite for him, much to his delight. There was not yet a night they had not been together, and sometimes it would happen again during the day... sometimes several times. This morning, not yet dawn, had proved to be another example of her want- it was still half an hour at least before dawn. Usually, she would be gone before he would wake for the day, always slipping out of his room like a bandit in the early morning hours. Not that he could blame her- they hadn't been open with the others about their relationship.   
  
And the dragon in Keep.   
  
Her parents had still not left Skyhold.   
  
But her parents be damned- this was about the two of them. Being together, being close. Closer, as his arms swept around her. His hot breath trickled down her neck as she eased further into his lap, his legs circling her. Here, Cullen could hear her breathy moans fully. Here, his teeth could graze against her jaw. Here, the delicious friction of her breasts against his hairy chest helped them become one organism. His mouth sought the skin connecting her jaw and neck, suckling the patch until the skin purpled under his attention. Cullen was marking her, claiming her.  
  
Her breath hitched, straining as those wet walls clamped around him. Her core shaking all around him, the pressure grew too much. His release coincided with hers. Cullen bringing his lover down with him, tucking her body into his side.  
  
“Please tell me I do not have to endure another breakfast with my parents,” Guinevere was always the first to speak while the glow of the moment faded, her words still holding to remnants of sleep.  
  
“Perhaps, our dear Inquisitor should command them to leave, by Andraste's order of course.”  
  
“Or, I could scandalize them with her affair with a particular attractive, handsome, virile Commander,”her last words punctuated by her descending fingers on the rigid v-shaped lines of his pelvis, a gesture that could still make his toes curl after he was spent.   
  
“They wouldn't believe you. What could even the broody Commander compare to the alluring Inquisitor!”  
  
“Not after the mark he so obviously left,” her tongue prodded at him after kissing his forehead.  
  
Her legs swung over the bed; it was about time for her to scamper off. Guinevere and he would admit this aloud, was a harpy if she was not allowed to watch the sunrise.   
  
He thought to offer to accompany her, but he was invading. Cullen could only follow her there on invite.  
  
“If they don't leave I'll miss the chance to make allies with the Qunari, Iron Bull is getting impatient with me.” Mused Guinevere aloud, pulling her shirt over her head.  
  
But she didn't leave quite as she launched from his bed, placing another soft kiss against his forehead. “Sorry Cullen, go back to sleep. Have a good day.”  
  
Words lingered in mid-air, still yet unable to be said. Lingering even after the soft clink of his door announced her departure.  
  
\---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---   ---  
  
 _Shit. Fucking. Shit. Maker's Balls._  
  
Guin sat alone, and the bar around her was silent. Bull was gone. The Chargers gone, gone. Blackwell, gone... but not gone, gone. Well that was her dearest hope. A mysterious letter left in place of his presence, was he angry because she didn't take him with her to the Storm Coast? It was a quick trip, after the delay her parent's over long visit caused they didn't have time for the entire troop to come. He had volunteered to stay behind.   
  
Gingerly she sucked on the ale held in her hands, grasping the worn wooden pint tightly. This ale would not leave her; the ale was safe. The ale did not pass judgment.  
  
"Inquisitor?" The voice softened, studying her forlorn eyes, "...Guinevere?"  
  
"Cullen."  
  
"I never thought it was possible to find you alone," his warm and gentle voice tried to attempt humor.  
  
"They hate me," deadpan.  
  
"Are you drunk?"  
  
"I think I can still feel the crushing weight of my latest foolish decisions, so no," Guinevere eyed the surfacing bottom of her pint, "or not yet." Her statement followed by a hefty and pronounced sigh. He already was not helping.  
  
"Cooper for your thoughts."  
  
"Did you think I did the right thing?"  
  
Cullen balked, tiptoe around the subject with feigned ignorance, "about what?"  
  
"Don't even pretend, Commander,” a solemn but not an ungentle answer. She knew well enough that her Commander would know. Leliana knew, so he would know. He should honestly know all the matters that pressed on her mind, while her trip to the Storm Coast was short, much happened in that short amount of time.   
  
“I-,” Cullen cut off by the seriousness of her look, “I would not have had the strength to make such a choice. But regarding the alliance, we have made, it was a sound tactical decision.”  
  
“Tactical? Maker's balls, I'm turning into you,” Guinevere mused into her drink, polishing off the pint with a flinch.  
  
Cullen leaned against the bar, amber eyes searching the wooden bar beneath him. Cabot glanced between the two, deciding it would just be best to silently fill the Inquisitor's pint. Cullen was silent, unsure.  This was not the regular Inquisitor.  
  
“Fuck, that was rude.” Another swig making it's way down her gullet.  
  
“A little.” Amber eyes viewing her with s soft frown.   
  
“I suppose that makes us even.”  
  
“Even?”  
  
“Are you drunk? What a great way to start a conversation,” Guin huffed.  
  
“Insisting I am unfeeling must be on the same level,” Cullen mused dryly.   
  
Guinevere grunted, returning to her drink.   
  
Cullen shuffled slowly from her side, the mage spilling her drink in the attempt to grasp at him. His arm twisting behind his back, he managed to look more amused than annoyed. Her nails only dug more vehemently into his pauldrons, “please don't leave me.”  
  
“I wouldn't dream of it,” he promised, gently lifting the hand that clung to him to his lips, “now, do you want to talk about it?” Cullen settled into the stool beside her, catching the drink Cabot instinctively threw at him.   
  
“I don't know where to start anymore,” Guin whined softly, consoling herself in drink.  
  
“Well, why do they hate you?” He mimicked the Inquisitor.  
  
“I let them die, and now Bull isn't in the bar...he never is not in the bar. I-I don't know why I let them die; I was just so worried that the Qunari would hate us... and that they could handle themselves. I never thought it would,” droplets began to roll down her cheeks, and into the waiting glass below.  
  
“Has he said anything?”  
  
Guinevere shook her head. The silence between them was more than enough for Guinevere to fill in the blanks in the worst possible way.   
“Did Blackwall act like anything was wrong?”   
  
“No, I suspected nothing. He left the kitchens in a hurry one day, but nobody thought anything of it. The night before you arrived he was reported missing,” answering her question honestly.  
  
“Right before I left we had the weirdest conversation over some drinks, something about a dog he didn't save when he was younger. I should have known then.”  
  
“I would not have gathered that from a conversation. Besides, Leliana will find him soon enough.” Placing his arm around her shoulders.  
  
The Commander had made the first move, so she felt comfortable putting her head on his shoulder. Even continuing to do so after his arm had moved to nurse his drink. Guinevere's arm looped in the space, brushing some imaginary dirt from his gloves.  
  
“You just seem to know everything,” Guinevere teased.  
  
“Occasionally.”  
  
It was good to see him smile. Even if it was just for her sake.   
  
“What do you think Vivienne wants with a Wyvern heart?”  
  
“I could not begin to guess.”  
  
“Weird, right? I trust her; just her wording seemed awfully... villainous?  Then I caught Solas drinking tea...weirder.”  
  
“If she is asking you, I am sure it is important,” Cullen paused in the time it took him to respond to Solas drinking tea, he wasn't aware that was a big change, “apparently he is drunk, too.”  
  
Guinevere grinned, this time, nuzzling her head into the crook of his neck,“I like you, Templar.”  
  
“I believe you have misspoken, my lady.” Cullen gently teased, “it's the drink.”  
  
“Keep that up and I will,” threatening words girded with out of place mirth.   
  
“I wouldn't dare,” chuckling gently, as he placed a soft kiss at the crown of her head.  
  
Guinevere was about to remark at the further strangeness of his public affections, but wouldn't remark in the fear that he would stop. It was nice not to feel like some locked away secret. Neither of them had spoken about it to change that, either. Now was just the time to bask in his attention, and not to question him.   
  
“Do you know where Sera is?”  
  
Cullen gulped, the tips of his ears turned scarlet, “They were-uh, I mean she was preoccupied with Dagna.”  
  
Guinevere giggled, “finally.”  
  
“I would appreciate it if it wasn't done in the undercroft,” he added staunchly.  
  
“I'm jealous that they thought of it first, plenty of surfaces to...” her fingers bouncing up his arm, the Commander growing redder with each inflection.   
  
“Inquisitor, oh, and the Commander,” rang out a very Orlesian voice.  
Cullen fished his arm out from under the Inquisitor to wave at the Spymaster, who would prove to bring news of whereabouts of their missing Grey Warden. It would seem Guinevere's plans to the Exalted Plains for Solas and Vivienne would be followed with a short journey to Val Royeaux. Leliana and Guinevere also seemed to discuss some affair they had at the Shrine of Dumat- a long journey away. Followed by another more private adventure to some Chantry. Leliana would be accompanying the Inquisitor, followed by Cassandra, Solas, and Vivienne.  
  
Almost as quickly as the Spymaster appeared, she was gone. Guinevere left yawning in her wake. Her journey would already start tomorrow; she had scarcely been back a full day. Cullen wanted to pout but held it in for Guinevere. Who was already distraught enough.  
  
“Well, I suppose as my room is now empty I have no excuse to bother you tonight.” Her touch lingered on his arm. “I'm sorry, I need to sleep this off.”  
  
“You don't need an excuse,” Cullen murmured to the empty seat beside him.  
  
He felt like he was losing her every time she left Skyhold. How many more journeys could she survive? Which trip out of Skyhold, out of his protection, be the last he ever saw of her?


	29. Chapter 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy shit, I posted.

"Whatever you write will be enough..."  
  
The paper turned to ash beneath the gentle creasing of her fingertips. The ambiance of the tent whispered of many parchments that had befallen the same fate- destroyed for lack of words adequately conveyed. Unfair to the paper, more undue to the would-be recipient of such dearly intended fond words.   
  
"It's silly," Guinevere stammered in a rare slip.  
  
Leliana's smile issued gently.   
  
Guinevere hated the words that dashed across the parchment with little purchase. What was one to say? Just how did one write their lover? She could think of many things to express, the longing for the slow drag of his calloused hand against bare flesh, prickling all the skin underneath in a delicious flurry of sensation. The way her throat seized as the endearing awkward man turned into the Commander who readily pulled her into him in a moment quicker than she could comprehend before it was there. Hot breath caressing her neck in the promise of more. But wasn't just reminding him of their dalliances just a cruel reminder of what he did not have? Wasn't that teasing the man? Guinevere did not want Cullen to think her immature and fickle, just there for the thrill of sex.  
  
What about sentimental drivel? Warm kisses placed lazily in the morning as she debated leaving the comfort of their bed. Unkept curls submitting to her gentle fingers in the hours of silence the Commander spent fast asleep. The butterflies that lit up in her stomach at the mere thought of him, and the whirl that proceeded each time his eyes graced her-  warranted or not. The ache that grew harder to ignore each time she had to leave his side. If she could only linger there, protected, happy... loved. Love? Was that it now? Their blossoming relationship was quickly claiming her for the first victim. Delilah had once warned her of such feelings, not directly, but through her complaining about how eager and annoying a new partner was. Especially the ones that had not yet taken another partner. And that she feared, irritating the man most precious to her, words remained locked away her enthusiasm contained.  
  
Asking him to spend time in her quarters would need to wait until she saw him in person. There they would have more room. He could recline on the couch, or pace around the ample space of her quarters. They could even set up a table for chess- of he could stand her slow movements as she tried to position the pieces thoughtfully.   
  
Such things could wait. If they needed to be said.  
  
Leliana lingered, eyes taking in her moment of retrospection with amusement. "We should see to Cassandra before our breakfast resembles rocks."  
  
Guinevere followed her out without argument, the pair quickly coming upon Cassandra who was awaiting them. Plates of meat and eggs readily, and still resembling food. Each one greeted as the plate was passed to them.  
  
"I was just thinking," Guinevere wondered aloud, "that it is very fortunate that Leliana required our assistance during this trek."  
  
Cassandra nodded, and Leliana looked in her direction another gentle grin donning across her features.  
  
"With Solas leaving us unexpectedly," Guinevere held some anger over his rash action, "I'm glad we could still have afforded to let Vivienne stay behind so that she could grieve and spend time with family."  
  
"It is indeed," Cassandra added in, digging into her plate.   
  
"A favor, for a favor, Inquisitor."  
  
A quick smile flashed between Cassandra and the Mage. Friendship with Leliana was proving difficult for Guin.   
  
The Seeker and Spymaster returned easily to silence; Guinevere wasn't ready for the steady silence between them to relapse. Falling asleep as broke fast for the second time in a row was a poor show for Leliana.   
  
"It's too quiet with so many of us gone," Guinevere muttered.   
  
Cassandra luckily took the bait, "Have you decided what will happen to Bla- Rainer now?"  
  
"No." Guinevere felt more inclined to push the food around her plate. Stomach curdling at the thought of putting any of it into her mouth. Cassandra's eyebrow raised unsatisfied. "Remind me why his fate is to be decided by me?"  
  
"Why do you continue not to eat?" Cassandra questioned brashly, "Are you more seriously sick than you will let on? Or is there something you are not telling us?"  
  
"No, nothing I haven't already discussed. Plus, I've actually gained weight."  
  
"What about the sleepwalking?" Cassandra continued.  
  
"I don't know about that either- it usually happens in Skyhold," Guin avoided Leliana's curious look, "Maybe it's just stress. Lots has happened on this journey, on this very long journey. It's been over two months since we saw Skyhold."  
  
"Stress, what stress? We are away from all-"  
  
The Seeker was cut off, "I don't think this is the time for accusations, Cassandra, perhaps our young Inquisitor is worried about having to save the whole world."  
  
"I have never done that before."  
  
"The Warden, Amelia, was much the same way. Especially before Denerim," Leliana's expression was perhaps the most gentle she had yet to see from the Spymaster, "She was lucky enough to have Alistair at her side."  
  
"So this is about men now?" Cassandra asked with a sigh.  
  
"I certainly think you are grumpier because you miss Varric, Cass." The mage added cautiously.   
  
"You little shit!" Cassandra snarled through a mouthful of eggs.  
  
"I certainly miss having a warm bath the most," Guinevere changed the subject, the smoldering behind Cass's eyes died down.  
  
"Silk sheets," Leliana breathed wistfully.   
  
"Decent food," Cassandra added staunchly.   
  
"Glad we aren't the only ones who aren't fans of the Seeker's cuisine." Guinevere teased, knowing it would draw the ire of her friend.   
  
"If we ate your cooking any more than we do, we would all be sick," Cassandra huffed.  
  
"You have years of experience over me! I could easily be a chef in the Royal houses by the time I have achieved your level of experience!"   
  
Cassandra's eyebrows crossed, grunting, "I will be goaded into an argument because you refer to me as old."  
  
"I never said old, Cassie, you came up with that one yourself," she taunted.   
  
"Ugh."  
  
Leliana laughed, concealing her mouth with her hand, "I am glad we have but one more stop to make. But I will miss the bickering."  
  
"We do not bicker," retorted Cassandra and Guinevere in unison. Each sizing the other up with a hard stare. The mage was the first to break away more easily cowed by the Seeker. Cassandra had the much more threatening angry face. Guinevere's conscience gave up much more easily, at least her face would never freeze in that position.  
  
"Alistair and Morrigan tried to claim the same thing," mused Leliana.  
  
~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~  
  
What was many days later the trio, with the band of scouts and soldiers behind them returned to Skyhold. Vivienne and Solas had returned from their ventures, and even Blackwall was awaiting Guinevere's judgment on his crimes. She thought it best that the man was returned to Skyhold, and Orlais for the time seemed to care little about what she did in regards to his fate. Apparently, her judgment was more than enough for them. Whether or not that was a positive sentiment had yet to be seen, and it hadn't made the decision any easier to make. Guinevere had secretly hoped they would take that upon themselves and not leave it to her, a friend, to decide the fate of a criminal. Had he really repented? By all appearances he had, he donated his life and his time to the Inquisition. Blackwall had rushed in to take the place of a man falsely accused of the crime he had committed. Should that mean something? Was she weak for wishing to spare him?   
  
But in the end, fate would decide if he lived or died.  
  
Josephine, while understanding, urged the Inquisitor to decide his fate on the day she had returned. There was no time initially to greet the Commander, but she swore to have caught the glint of armor and blonde hair passing through her peripheral vision.   
  
Cullen was also busy, with not a spare moment to even catch the eye of his lover. His attentions turned entirely to the campaign in the Arbor Wilds. It was coming down to the last few details as the first scouts arrived to stage the battle. Catching a servant to leave the usual basket of apples barely fit into his day. He didn't like it, but sometimes responsibility had to overcome matters of the heart.   
  
Guinevere decided that Rainer would have to truly become a Grey Warden. The Joining was reputed to be fickle -so he could die- or he could live to see another day. With his past life finally completely left behind him. His death would dole out justice while living made out a loophole for him.   
  
The simple pronunciation left her much more tired than she had expected it to. Dinner for that night would be forgone. Other temptations would just have to wait for the next day. He hadn't shown up in the dining hall- then she would have stayed for supper. But sneaking out of the dining room was much easier without the pestering Commander to encourage her to eat.Much more lonely at the same time, but she had heard how he was consumed with his work. It was best not to bother the man while he worked diligently. He wasn't like to be in mood, and honestly, she was not either. Bath...maybe. Bed definitely.   
  
Through door to her quarters, and already she could feel the burdens slipping from her shoulders.   
  
Home.  
  
The prolonged sound of the heavy door slamming shut easily ignored in her haste. Guinevere battled with whether or not she wanted to enjoy a bath; the grime would be most unfortunate to wake up with in the morning- Oh, but the sleep would be just heavenly. At the same time, the oils, salts, and smells would be Divine. Wiping such a long and stressful trip from her memories with ease. Cleans sheets mixing with a clean nude body. It was now decided at this point. She would just have to wait on the couch while she had a bath prepared, now to turn back around and-  
  
"Inquisitor." A soft, warm voice that reminded her of velvet floated to her ears.   
  
Feet gaining sudden momentum as she was swept into the air by the figure she had almost toppled into. The cold stone against her back a contrast to the hungry lips that pried open her lips. Bare hands slipping beneath her layers of clothing to tease her soft flesh. Fingers rubbing over the pouch of fat pooling over her stomach. Hands quickly retreating to her hips, allowing Guinevere to catch her breath and take in the man that had again not allowed her to take in his form before he swept her away. Lips smiling softly down at her. Proud of himself for changing out of his 'Commander' gear before greeting her. The light tunic and soft breaches a welcome change in regards to the heat that spread across his loin.   
  
"Maker's breath, how I have missed you," words reverent.  
  
"Cullen," Guinevere wasted no time in wrapping her arms around his neck burying herself in the space created. His arms willing wrapped around her center.  
  
"You didn't write, I was worried," Cullen's voice cracked, but his arms wound around her tighter.  
  
"I did wri-"  
  
Cullen sighed, "Reports don't tell me nearly enough. Like how we are scaring Cassandra half to death by waking her in the middle of night, half dressed."  
  
"I don't want to talk about that now," Guinevere still did not remember that incident, had the two sicced him on her?  
  
"Well enough, I suppose we will have time for that later," Cullen's voice deepened, his teeth grazing the flesh of her neck. Hands traveling south to hoist her from the ground again, "among other matters. But Maker are you more important than-"   
  
The mage shivered under his attention, the heat pooling in her center urged her to accept his attentions, but a headache reminded her of the consequences of expending such energy. She had to resist him tonight, "Cullen."  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Not tonight. I'm sorry, I'm too tired," Guinevere regretted each word.  
  
She was set down without a complaint, hands taking her shoulders, "No, that was forward of me. You must be tired after such a long journey. I was over eager."  
  
"I'll take the compliment."   
  
Cullen smiled, offering a small kiss, "I'll call someone to draw you a bath?"  
  
"That would be lovely," honoring Cullen with another kiss.  
  
Cullen withdrew his touch, amber eyes flickering to the stairs that lead to her quarters. He thought what they both did, wishing the other to invite them to spend the night. Guinevere turned away first, but her head had yet to follow through completely.  
  
"Something else on your mind, Cullen?"  
  
His head shook, hand rubbing the nape of his neck, "No. I was just thinking how empty my desk looked without you there." His smile flickered to existence briefly. Before pivoting cleanly on his heel, leaving Guinevere the easier choice by sucking in his pride first. "Good Night, Guinevere."  
  
"Sleep sweet, Cullen."  
  
Her steps heavy as she ascended the last flight before she could rest again, to find the aroma of a bath already meeting her. The sly dog had already called one for her. Now she felt guilty for pushing him away after his effort. It smelled a little too strongly of something that resembled mint. Had he out in too much? Or was he trying something new? But it was too much to resist, after peeling away her clothes and taking an apple from the basket for the trip.  
  
The temperature was perfect, barely scalding. The milky liquid called to her. Promising clean skin and a good night of rest ahead of her, if only she answered to the tempting beckon of the bath. The water tingled against her skin, the first dip of her toes relaxing each muscle. Soon her foot, calf, and thigh followed. Her entire body easing into the hot bath. Apple slipping from her grip as the night slipped from her consciousness.   
  



End file.
